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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890750">D. O. A.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketzocase/pseuds/sketzocase'>sketzocase</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel 616, X-Factor (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Decisions, Bad Parenting, Dark, Dark Agenda, F/F, F/M, False Accusations, Hidden Talents, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Mindfuck, Mutant Politics, Past Torture, Prison, Propaganda, getaway cabin, psychology elements, secret mutant agenda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:01:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>41,467</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketzocase/pseuds/sketzocase</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In all of the history of man(and mutant)kind, there has been only one weapon that is known to have unbelievably deadly results regardless of who fires it or how well it is fired. You see, that weapon takes no gunpowder or electricity. It requires no planes or jets or armored tanks to be dropped inside enemy lines. There is no special field of training needed for the users of the weapon to become masters in their trade. This weapon is so easy to access and handle that we as a whole start using it as soon as we're able to form our own thoughts and words. The weapon? It's a simple lie. </p><p>When the mighty leaders of Krakoa were a little less mighty.... and a lot less wise- they found themselves swayed by a lie .<br/>Eight years later, their world is rocked by the revelation of just how badly they'd been had.  </p><p>At the end of it, all Logan wants is his son back.<br/>But things for Logan and his kin.... well, they're never quite that easy, are they?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daken Akihiro/Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, Emma Frost/Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Emma Frost/Scott Summers, Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Jean-Paul Beaubier/Kyle Jinadu, Logan/Kurt Wagner, Lorna Dane/Rachel Summers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Inferno- the circle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So yea. This story is dark. Be warned. Because, this is ... ya know a warning. </p><p>I'll drop triggers in the notes!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Triggers! </p><p>-lies<br/>-botched trials<br/>-false rape claims<br/>-victim-blaming<br/>-ostracization<br/>-stalking<br/>-false evidence<br/>-false witness<br/>-schemes , dreams, and other things.<br/>-mindwipe<br/>-mind fucks<br/>-character torture<br/>-DARK<br/>-SO DARK<br/>-body violence<br/>-aftermath of torture<br/>-cruelty of man<br/>-cruelty of mutant<br/>-scary location<br/>-careless characters<br/>-no one has a good time in this chapter</p><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">It’s pretty fucking easy to assume that when I walk into a room, I'm the OLDEST bastard in the place. Guess you could say that it's just the nature of the whole ‘healing factor’ deal. I mean it's no 100% right all the time- that Apocalypse dick has me beat and I’ll admit that. That hardly counts for shit though- the dude is literally ancient. As in the definition of 'ancient'. I can’t stand up to that! Compared to him, I'm barely a toddler. Not that any of that really means much to me. I ain’t got much of a head for ‘ancient’ civilizations anyway. Not really my bag.Just cause I’m walking history doesn’t mean I want to get together and start an immortal bastard bookclub.</p>
<p class="p1">My very long life span means that I’ve gotten to see some shit others haven’t through the years. Nice, sweet, bad, weird, fucked- I seen it all. My bullshit-meter is so high that it's a fucking world wonder. I mean <em>fuck.</em> By the time I got to joining the x-men, they weren’t even the weirdest thing I’d seen. And that? <em>That’s saying something.</em> Since signing up with the team I’ve been to space, I’ve been to hell, I’ve died more times than I can count- my life is pretty fucking weird. Even for a superhero. Which again…. Says something.</p>
<p class="p1">When you think about it all like this it only makes sense that I’ve been in some pretty…. Strange living arrangements? Not strange as in ‘living with your gal in her parent’s basement in your 50’s’ strangeOr ‘having a bender and running off into the sunset to live in some stranger’s car with him’ strange.</p>
<p class="p1">Nah... It's just that I’ve just had a few run-ins with the cosmos herself. And let me tell you- she’s got a wicked sense of humor and a deadly willingness to be petty.</p>
<p class="p1">Over a century and a half of jumping around from place to place and team to team (dream to dream, really) has given me a bit more experience than most others got. Good or bad -it is what it is. I’ve been an Avenger, I’ve been Alpha Flight, Weapon X, X-force, X-men- you name it, I’ve been on the team at least once. Guess you could always say I return back to the x-men because they’re family. It’s not as if kicking it with Rogers and Stark isn’t fun. Living in Avengers mansion was nice at times- it didn’t blow up as much as the x-mansions…. That’s nice, ya know?</p>
<p class="p1">Still…somehow every adventure I roam leads me right back to the people I care the most for…as stupid and sappy as that may sound.</p>
<p class="p1">We mutants have been through some tight spots before- there’s no lie in that. So you can’t really blame us for trying desperate measures at times when we’re facing down the fact that our basic rights and freedoms are once again on the chopping block.</p>
<p class="p1">Freedom on the line, rights down the drain, and a dwindling population of desperate masses looking for a lifeline… that’s how Krakoa came to exist.</p>
<p class="p1">(basically).</p>
<p class="p1">Krakoa is like nothing I’ve ever seen. It’s… better than I can describe. Better than any of us can describe.</p>
<p class="p1">I mean, up until we came here, I never knew you could live on a LIVING island. And he’s alive. Trust me- he’s alive. He moves. He grows. Just like we do.</p>
<p class="p1">All of the madness took some getting used to- even for us x-men.</p>
<p class="p1">We also had to keep in mind that it wasn't just<em> us </em>who had to be used to it. We have people to care for now- a lot of them. Getting them into the mindset that we have to care for our home or it may get pissed at us was…. Well, it was an adjustment. Not a bad one, I don’t think. Just… different.</p>
<p class="p1">Living with Krakoa (and on him) we can ask him for things. Things that he’ll give us.</p>
<p class="p1">And that’s on top of all of our other resources here. On Krakoa, we’re protected and we’re safe. No one’s gonna come sniffing around and trying to blow our shit up. No one’s going to come around and start ordering us to comply with whatever stupid human rules they can come up with to ‘protect’ themselves.<br/>
<br/>
Thing is? Humans need about as much protection as we do.</p>
<p class="p1">Mag’s may have been right- the best thing for our ‘cohabitation’ was just to not cohabitate.We couldn’t share the space- that’s just it. Sometimes you gotta know when to fold.</p>
<p class="p1">I’d like to see the balls on any human who thinks showing up here on our shore is a good idea. Cuz I can tell you now- it ain’t.</p>
<p class="p1">Still…. All of this shit can be weird. Real fucking weird. Guess that’s the point of it- huh? Shaking up what we knew and giving us something different?<br/>
<br/>
We weren’t gonna make any progress staying stagnant and in place forever. We weren’t going to grow if we kept fighting the same battles over and over with the same results. It’s wasted time and effort- time and effort that we’ve proven we can put to good use on Krakoa. </p>
<p class="p1">At times, it feels like in the past we mutants have given up so much for so little and that Krakoa is like our… I don’t know, cosmic reward?</p>
<p class="p1">We don’t deal with humans. We don’t deal with wars. We deal with us. And it’s about god damn time that us mutants were allowed to do that.</p>
<p class="p1">Living on Krakoa- a living island (god I keep saying it because I can’t forget it)- is something that’s… well, it’s hard to explain and for better or worse, it changes a guy. </p>
<p class="p1">Eh… well I guess it’s safe to say that it changes a lot of people- not just old war dogs like me with trust issues.</p>
<p class="p1">This place- it wasn’t just built for me. It wasn’t built for the teams. It wasn’t built for Chuck, or Erik, or Jeanie, or Summers- no. It was built for ALL mutants. This isn’t an x-man’s pipe dream- it’s an inevitable conclusion to the shitty hand mutants got dealt.</p>
<p class="p1">We didn’t force anyone to come here. We offered new lives- yea. New chance. New starts.</p>
<p class="p1">…but there wasn’t any arm twisting. Mutants were welcomed with open arms and granted the freedom they deserved. No one forced anyone to take us up on our offer.</p>
<p class="p1">While most of us x-men packed it up and in- being our old war-torn selves- the population we amassed is pretty damn impressive. Especially as it's grown over the years.</p>
<p class="p1">I guess what I’m trying to say is that this isn’t strictly an x-man thing. I mean- it is, but it’s not. We’re not signing citizens up for missions- we’re not forcing training. Everything is optional. All we did was lay out the rules and guidelines. That’s it. We have our laws- they are sacred to us. That’s how that bullshit works.</p>
<p class="p1">Those laws weren’t just written for us x-men to follow. Those guidelines and safeties we enacted aren’t to keep us in a dangerous power play that we so often got locked into with humans. Everything that’s been done, to my knowledge, has been for the good of our people.</p>
<p class="p1">…all of our people.</p>
<p class="p1">Mutants needed a safe place to grow- to learn- to live. So…. We gave it to them. We found it, we made it, and we maintain it. And every single day we move closer and closer to the perfect utopia we’ve always dreamed of.<br/>
<br/>
I’ll be honest, when the idea was first floated past me- I was against it. It sounded too much like a trick from ol’ Buckethead himself. Can’t really blame me for that- he is on our highest council to this day. I guess it was Chuck who really won me over- he offered me a chance to learn and grow not just among everyone else, but with my kiddos. He gave them a start, he gave them a home we could share…. And that was a major turning point in my opinion of this place.</p>
<p class="p1">Don’t get me wrong- there’s nothing wrong with living here. My opinion wasn’t terrible, to begin with. Krakoa is beautiful- breathtaking. You can hear flyers chasing the winds on clear nights- enjoying the freedom. You can see lights and thermal powers being used for god knows what in the woods at night- kids, mainly. A rave or two? Can’t say it’s not… interesting.</p>
<p class="p1">This experiment involved a major leap of faith taken from every single mutant who dared to come through those original portals. A step into the unknown. We could have failed. We could have fallen. We could have crashed and burned… but we didn’t.</p>
<p class="p1">I mean don’t get me wrong- some pitfalls were a little too close for comfort. But, we made it. As it stands, we’re about ten years into our new world. We’ve survived.</p>
<p class="p1">We don’t age- we don’t die. If we do die, we come back stronger. Our population is growing in leaps and bounds. Young mutants born into a world where they will never have to see a Sentinel anywhere but on a page of a textbook. They’ll not know about inhibitor camps or collars. They won’t know what the inside of a Weapon X facility looks like. They won’t know what it’s like to watch people die by the thousands on the news because the humans are scared and wound up.</p>
<p class="p1">I can’t thank Chuck enough for that- really. I mean ….The guy and I aren’t on the best of terms here lately, but I can always say that I respect him. He’s like me in a way- we do the hard shit. The shit that needs done that others won’t be able to do.</p>
<p class="p1">Thing is that Chuck…? He just wants peace. He just wants to provide the best quality of life he can to all of these innocent people who follow him. I respect that. I think it takes a lot of guts to take on so much responsibility. The issue between us has never been that I think he’s unworthy of respect and it never will be.</p>
<p class="p1">Being who I am and knowing what I do about the world though, I know just how ‘difficult’ peace is to maintain.</p>
<p class="p1">If you wanna keep the peace, you gotta try real hard- that shit ain’t free. You gotta put in some sweat…and not everything is gonna be out in the open and above the board.</p>
<p class="p1">That’s why we have all these ‘councils’ and shit. High, low, mid- whatever the fuck. We involve a certain amount of people to make sure that the ‘issues’ are getting across clearly. That there’s not going to be any ‘surprises’ when laws or policies get pushed out. We gotta a lot of mutants here- lotta powerful ones coming up-the last thing they need to see is their leaders openly arguing amongst themselves.</p>
<p class="p1">Personally, I don’t really attend council meetings if I don’t have to. Diplomacy makes me nod off in seconds. Guess I’m still much better at the ‘slashing and punching’ part of my job as compared to the stay awake and listen part.</p>
<p class="p1">Luckily for me, staying awake and listening ain’t really a big part of my actual job. That’s why we have The Five working closely with the teams and the resurrection protocols running at top-notch. That’s why we have checks and balances- shitty ones at times, yea. But hey- nothing in this world is perfect- even when it’s mutant made.</p>
<p class="p1">Even with all our work and sweat and caution, it’s hard to just up and say that we’ve had any major blips or fuckups on the way. X-men shit is as it ever was-messy and complicated.<br/>
…Ain’t no amount of magic or power gonna change that.</p>
<p class="p1">For an ‘evolved’ people? We can be as dumb as a box of rocks. Maybe even dumber depending on who’s actually ‘in charge’...Which if it’s Summers you can use just HOW DUMB we can be.</p>
<p class="p1">Still, somehow, everything manages to run as it should.On the off chance it doesn’t-it’s usually an easy fix, anyway.</p>
<p class="p1">Krakoa is made to maintain itself and us- no matter how stupid we may be. Kinda guess that’s the biggest fail-safe we have. Like the ultimate cosmic seatbelt. Sure, if shit goes down we’ll get whiplash… but at least we won’t go flying off into space. </p>
<p class="p1">While we’re here and working to keep everything moving, we have to keep our ‘eyes to the future’. Chuck’s words there. Nice, pretty, and vague. He’s good at those.</p>
<p class="p1">It ain’t really all that hard to keep everyone in line. Would be easier if we had some of our lovely telepaths just do some zapping now and then… but that’s apparently ‘uncouth’. And probably the reason that the divine powers that be made sure I didn’t get any handy telepathic powers of my own.</p>
<p class="p1">Fine by me. When push comes to shove, no one really cares to be stabbed or slashed. So it’s not like I have to worry about getting too much flak.<br/>
<br/>
All this flowery and praising talk aside, there are still some troublemakers. No place is perfect. This means that someone (or ones) has still gotta keep some semblance of law and order. If you stop a problem before it starts to spread it won’t be a problem. At least- that’s how Chuck pitched it to me.</p>
<p class="p1">Honestly though? It’s not that serious. Not even really a big deal. Crime on Krakoa is almost embarrassingly low.We really don’t have any laws that are worth breaking. Keep your ambitions in check and your hands to yourself and you’re fine.No one wants to fight- be it between themselves or us ‘leaders’. There aren’t any big political debates- no laws that are unjust in anyone’s eyes, no unfair treatment or uncalled for violence… crime just doesn’t make sense here.</p>
<p class="p1">We don’t have money to steal because everything anyone could ever want is absolutely free. Krakoa just passes it on over. Everyone's got what they need, everyone's living like they want. Again that’s why crime just ain’t a thing here. Not even crimes of desperation. Because of Krakoa, there’s no starvation. No shortage of food or resources.There’s no poverty- no homelessness. Everyone has somewhere they can be. We don’t have overworked and bigoted police forces to turn a blind eye to violence perpetrated towards mutants.</p>
<p class="p1">All of that is great- even I can’t deny it. I mean I’m an old bastard who loves a scrap more than most people on this island…and even can agree that these are all objectively good things</p>
<p class="p1">(Objectively. Keep that in mind. )</p>
<p class="p1">When Chuck asked me to be in charge of 'security' (a police detail of sorts, basically), I was actually worried that I'd spend all my time chasing down punks with Krakoan drugs or some shit….But Nah. That's not what he needed. This? This is where things get… deeper. Weirder. This? This is where it started to get serious.</p>
<p class="p1">What Chuck really needed here was someone on hand ready to step in and do something drastic and <em>quiet</em> at a moment's notice. He said he didn’t foresee it happening- but if something ever did rear its ugly head, he wanted me there to handle it. He can’t publicly go getting his hands dirty if trouble comes a-callin'.</p>
<p class="p1">This is why I was really brought in to his little task force.So…that’s where I come in. I mean come one, that’s where I've always come in- isn’t it? Everyone just knows that Ol' Wolverine will do what needs done- no matter what. My involvement can strike some fear into a situation before I even talk to the bastards. These punks know who I am. They know what I’ve done- and they know what I can do.</p>
<p class="p1">This place means a lot to a lotta people- me included. My friends are here. My family is here. The best memories of my life to DATE are <em>mostly</em> here.I’m sure to let anyone willing to start shit know just that. No one gets to come here and ruin everything we’ve worked for.</p>
<p class="p1">I’m the perfect war dog for the job here. My bad reputation makes for a helluva dire warning. A real ‘fuck around and find out’ kinda deal. Most of the time? It doesn’t get TOO dangerous.<br/>
There are a few times I’ve had to take some people out- sure. But like I said, it doesn’t happen much.</p>
<p class="p1">In fact, the cases where I’m needed to be the ‘executioner’ they need me to be are SO extreme that I’ve rarely had to do it. I think in the last 10 years, I can count the cases on one hand. It’s not an easy part of the job. It’s not easy to take this dream away from someone- even though I know, logically, that they did this shit to themselves.</p>
<p class="p1">What I do when needed is simply enforce crime and punishment. Law and order.</p>
<p class="p1">Last two years or so, they don’t need me much. I got a pretty easy life. Get to spend time with my girls, my fiancé, work on some shit I always wanted to get around to…. Ya know- stuff that old dudes should be able to do without worrying about getting their brains turned to mush by an unexpected Sentinel blast to the back of the skull.</p>
<p class="p1">There’s just one small hitch that I’m not really…. Okay- okay- with. One part that I can’t shut out. I gotta do it- we gotta do it. But it doesn’t make it any easier.</p>
<p class="p1">The flip side to this whole Krakoa experiment of ours is that we now have a population teeming with strong mutants- mutants who don't really have to listen to us should they not want to. We could subdue a riotous crowd- sure. Chuck could put ‘em down with ease. But that show of force won’t really <em>help us. </em> It’s only been a decade since we came here. Most people on this Island have more than enough memories of how fucked up the ‘justice’ was in the human world. How we always got the short end of the stick and the wrong end of the barrel. We start mass mind wiping and punishing our citizens and we’re gonna lose everything we’ve worked towards in a manner of weeks.</p>
<p class="p1">We gotta be smart here. We gotta be sneaky.</p>
<p class="p1">We gotta be harsh.</p>
<p class="p1"><br/>
So…. We find ways to improvise.Even in a Utopia, you gotta drop the hammer a few times. It’s unavoidable. With the reviving processes and the easy-going lifestyle- some sicko could really hurt people in real personal ways if they wanted. We can’t give them an endless stream of reviving victims to toy with.</p>
<p class="p1">Still… it’s not as easy as you’d think. See, we don’t have to do the whole ‘execution’ or ‘exile’ thing much. My count is still five times in ten years? That’s a pretty respectable record, in my book. It means that our system works.<br/>
<br/>
But just because something works, doesn’t mean that it can’t work<em> better. </em></p>
<p class="p1">We found a way to make this work more efficiently. That record stays low because of the fear we’ve stricken into the heart of the people who observed those cases. We made them messy. We made the big. We made them scary.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s a warning. It’s a promise. A cautionary tale.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>…</em>But we can still make it <em>more</em>. We can make it dire. No- not dire. We make it<em> public. </em></p>
<p class="p1">We need them to know two things. 1) they can’t be stepping out of line and 2) we will do whatever it takes to keep everyone safe.</p>
<p class="p1">We need their fear- yea. But we also need their respect. We need to express just what will happen if the lines are pushed or crossed beyond all reason. That’s it. That’s what we have to do. Again, it’s not too often this happens... But when the opportunity reveals itself, we gotta take it. We’d be stupid not to.</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Holy fuck do I sound like Chuck right now. Kinda makes me sick to my stomach right now.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">Anyway, to recap, every once in a while, we need to make an example of someone. It’s dark and gritty and no one likes it…. But it’s what it takes.</p>
<p class="p1">With my reputation being so widely known, it only makes sense that I’d be the guy passing out and enforcing judgments. I talk them over with the council- kick it around with every single higher up involved- and then I decide what to do with ‘em.</p>
<p class="p1">Don’t get me wrong- these aren’t <em>little </em>crimes or offenses. You’re not going away to wherever I send them because you stole something or started a bar fight.</p>
<p class="p1">We won’t lock you up because you’re smoking drugs in the back of the club. We’re not hunting you down because you stole or hit or lied…. We got people for that, sure. But you’re not gonna end up sitting across from me in cuffs.<br/>
<br/>
The cases I get- the ones Chuck assigns to me? No. These are <em>twisted</em>. These are <em>dark.</em> These cases are the substance of nightmares. We let these bastards go and they will destroy and wreck whatever they can get their slimy mitt on. We get some killers out here- it’s true. And while their victims come back- that’s not much of a comfort knowing that they’ll probably end right back up in their attacker's crosshairs.</p>
<p class="p1">Can you imagine being killed by the same asshole ten times in a row?I’ve been there. It ain’t pretty.</p>
<p class="p1">When something truly nasty comes into the light- when it’s someone we can’t afford to keep around- we make an example of ‘em. We show everyone just how rotten and evil they are- we expose them to their core. Rip ‘em down cell by cell. We strip ‘em of their people. We strip ‘em of our grace- their home.</p>
<p class="p1">The hard part in this is that we try our best not to kill our own. We know better than to start that crazed rumor mill of mutants fearing that we’re going to start snatching them up and hanging them in the streets.</p>
<p class="p1">So… we find other ways.</p>
<p class="p1">Meaning that <em>I </em>find other ways.</p>
<p class="p1">I’m old. I know things and people that others don’t. I know of things that others don’t <em>want </em>to know. I know of places and things that are so unbelievable they’ve been regulated to the pages of horror novels and folk tales.</p>
<p class="p1">…doesn’t mean they ain’t real, though. They are and they always have been. Nightmares can fuel a whole shit ton of things- functional and non.</p>
<p class="p1">Never underestimate the power of a scary story. Stories are rooted in truth. Truth is rooted in fear. You wanna stay alive? Keep it in mind.</p>
<p class="p1">One of these places is known as ‘The Inferno’. Pretty safe naming. It’s old as fuck- I guess they found it more creative back then?<br/>
<br/>
The thing about The Inferno is that I know it real well from a book smarts standpoint. To be honest, I’ve never really been pressed to go in for an actual tour in the last few decades. Or, ever, come to think of it- trust when I say that no one wants to be steppin’ foot in that place. Our last big case ended there- guess you could say it was the case that shook up Krakoan justice for good. One of the rules we have is that when we exile someone and hand over their conviction (no matter where we send them), we don’t talk to them anymore. So no one’s been able to come to this prison in person because the convict is held here. We couldn’t give him the luxury of thinking that he was worth going against the rules for- ya know?</p>
<p class="p1">Because of all of that, the knowledge I have is probably out of date and unproven… and yet it’s somehow still the scariest shit I’ve ever read…. And at my age? That’s saying something.</p>
<p class="p1">Thing is- my job is important to me. It’s important to me that we’re keeping people safe. Or trying to- at least. So when I send bastards away- whether it be to be exiled in jail or flat out murdered- I take it seriously. I put thought into it.</p>
<p class="p1">I put thought into every step of it. I craft a punishment befitting the crime and do what it takes to see that there’s some sort of justice rendered for whoever got hurt.<br/>
<br/>
We’re mutants- and I get that. We’re powerful. We live longer- even when we’re OFF Krakoa. So some things have to be done to ensure that justice gets where it needs to go.</p>
<p class="p1">We got a few rules we follow when sending someone away. We gotta make a statement to them that they ain’t one of us from that point on. So we have ways of stripping powers- more like ‘blocking’ but it’s the same emotional wallop. It’s loud, it’s painful, and most importantly…? It’s humiliating.</p>
<p class="p1">It was not made to be survived. None of this is.</p>
<p class="p1">We also have ways of marking them before they go- marking them so that if anyone were to ever get out, we’d know where they were and how to get to them.</p>
<p class="p1">…not a problem we have to face -though. None of these bastards are getting out. They don’t live long enough.</p>
<p class="p1">These cases are big because they serve a purpose. They scare and in scaring, they caution and teach. Chuck has been many things over his life, but you can’t deny that his favorite position has always been and will always be an educator.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s awful what we do to these bastards- I can agree with that. We can all agree with that. But that shit needs done. We’re doing the right thing by doing the wrong thing. And by doing the wrong thing, we’ve both protected and frightened our own people.</p>
<p class="p1">To do this- to ensure that they see what we’re doing for them- we make it very public. We have shows. We have interviews. We have ‘trials’. We throw all this shit in their faces and then keep it there until a judgment has been passed. </p>
<p class="p1">(Trust me- it don’t take long. Chuck, Emma, and Jeannie can root out a lie from a million miles away. )</p>
<p class="p1">There’s no point in lying about the telepath’s capabilities to make them sound more powerful. We don’t need to That’s just the truth of the reach of their powers and influence.</p>
<p class="p1">So trust me when I say that we know which assholes are guilty before they even REACH the lobby of a courthouse. That’s why people should be nervous when they fuck up- because we already know what you've done, we already know why you've done it, and we already know what we're going to do to show the others that you can't do that here. </p>
<p class="p1">The important part is to keep the public informed. This works even better if you can find a way to involve them. Get a jury together. Get some ‘investigators’ in on it. Send some people sleuthing. It’s real easy. You involve them and show them what keeping the peace means to our civilization. You show them how far you’re willing to go…. And then you ask <em>them </em>how far <em>they’re</em> willing to go.<br/>
<br/>
I do take some issue with this bullshit…to be fair. I think it’s over the top. We don't even need a trial. Or even a physical courthouse. We don’t need juries. We don’t need witnesses.</p>
<p class="p1">…just call the convicted, tell 'em what they’ve done, banish ‘em, punish ‘em, and go home.</p>
<p class="p1">That ‘trial’ part is all a show really-  our population is still young- still growing. We still remember the human world and the human laws. It's really just about sensibilities at that point. We'll get to a point where it's all a shadow of a past nightmare, I guess…but we ain’t there yet. So with all this in mind, for the good of the public, we put on a little show.</p>
<p class="p1">We’ve only had to do it about five times in our ten-year history. The last one being about eight years ago. After that one, really no one wanted to make too much trouble.</p>
<p class="p1">It was bad. It was real bad. A nasty case, a nasty and drawn-out trial, a horrible sentencing…</p>
<p class="p1">No one’s wanted to go up against the councils- or me- since. After all was said and done, we didn’t hear a peep from several would-be rabble-rousers. Everyone sat the fuck down and minded their manners- something they’re still doing to this day. (at least around me)</p>
<p class="p1">See that case… that case ….It was just.... too damn messy. Too raw. Too bloody…too weird. That’s what it was- it was fucking weird.</p>
<p class="p1">No one wanted to really touch it- myself included.</p>
<p class="p1">…But I did.</p>
<p class="p1">I did what Chuck demanded of me. I followed his orders. I followed his laws. I followed every single step and direction given to me.Still…that one did a number on me- I’m not gonna lie.</p>
<p class="p1">My job dictates that I treat every citizen the same- all of them. Whether I know them personally or not. There is no room for nepotism in this system and as I am a piece of said system, that goes doubly for me. Maybe even higher- really. Because I’m the piece of our justice machine that doles out the punishment fitting the crime when they’re declared guilty.</p>
<p class="p1">…I don’t execute mutants- I send them to be executed. My hands are clean. (technically speaking) I’ve broken no laws. I’ve shown no mercy that was not demanded. It’s fair that way, I think. </p>
<p class="p1">Sending people off to secondary sites seems…. Cowardly but really…it just ensures that my emotions don’t cloud my judgment.</p>
<p class="p1">They need to suffer. They need to pay.</p>
<p class="p1">…and I make sure that they do. I send them where they won’t be found. I sign the dotted lines their fates with the same steady hand as the poor bastard before them.</p>
<p class="p1">I’m good at my job. Why wouldn’t I be? I’m loyal. I’m strong-willed. I have a strong gut… I’ve proved this with the last case.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The last case where I sentenced and condemned my own son.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>My</em> kid.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>My</em> boy.</p>
<p class="p1">I had hopes for the kid. It really seemed that when he got here, he wanted to try. It really did.<br/>
Daken…. He’s always been SUCH a good actor though. I guess when the accusations came out, I wasn’t surprised at all. Maybe that’s what pissed me off more- not only that he’d done it, but that I knew he eventually would.</p>
<p class="p1">In front of God and everyone,I stood before him and handed him the worse sentence I could imagine. I gave him a life of pain and torment that I knew would not end. And they cheered- the people. The entire island. They cheered. I looked him in the eyes and told him flat out that I hated him. That we all hated him. That what he was getting was too good for him. I told him that he was unlovable. Unsalvageable. I told him he was evil and subhuman.</p>
<p class="p1">….<em>my </em>kid. <em>My </em>boy.</p>
<p class="p1">I felt nothing but rage sentencing him. The charges against him….god… those charges were… unforgivable. What he’d done- what he planned to do… it was despicable. I couldn’t believe I’d ever helped make someone so dark and twisted. I couldn’t believe that he had any trace of his kind and soft-hearted momma in him.</p>
<p class="p1">…couldn’t even look in the face for a few weeks. I couldn’t stand the disgrace he’d brought to her.</p>
<p class="p1">Being Krakoa, of course, Daken’s victim did not die. He was saved. And… god, that man- oh he was so strong. SO strong. So charismatic. He held his head up and walked into that courtroom- he told his story. He faced down a room full of people and confessed this horrible ordeal he’d been through- right down to every accounted second.</p>
<p class="p1">…That trial drove people to tears- just from his testimony alone. The story involved torture and rape and mutilation and savagery- and yet there he was, that brave, brave, young victim. Strong backed- tears in his eyes but voice loud and clear.</p>
<p class="p1">He’s a survivor. That’s what he is.</p>
<p class="p1">That man- that victim? He was almost instantly a national treasure. Which of course, meant that Daken was complete and utter filth. Below filth, really. He was barely even human in our eyes.</p>
<p class="p1">...probably lower. Okay, definitely lower. We couldn’t have possibly held him lower regard.</p>
<p class="p1">Daken was shunned before he was able to say a single word in his defense. It was almost automatic and it seemed to hit all at once. Like a tidal wave of anger and hate.</p>
<p class="p1">See, no one believed him- why would we? He was guilty before he even reached the stand.</p>
<p class="p1">Everyone- and I mean EVERYONE- on Krakoa hated him.... and they let him know it. Loudly. instantly. He had several ‘unfortunate’ mishaps in custody. Got the shit beat out of him on a regular. Starved on ‘accident’. Ya know… petty shit like that.</p>
<p class="p1">Daken was trapped in a world where he didn’t have a single person on his side. No one to talk to- nowhere to go.<br/>
<br/>
So he stayed put. He waited for his trial and maintained his innocence. He begged us to believe him. But… how could we? Look at the kid’s past- it’s not as if he was squeaky clean.</p>
<p class="p1">He promised he’d changed. That he was doing better- that things were different.</p>
<p class="p1">….but they weren’t. Not to us.</p>
<p class="p1">He was the same old hateful creature he’d always been.</p>
<p class="p1">Personally, I tried to write him off. After all of that ‘changed for the better’ bullshit- after fooling us into thinking he was actually worth a damn- he showed his true colors. Fooled us all- is what we said.</p>
<p class="p1">His tears- fake. His pleas- fake. His ‘depression’- fake. Suicidal urges? Definitely fake.<br/>
He didn’t feel those things. He wasn’t capable of feeling them.</p>
<p class="p1">“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. And definitely not one as stupid as you.”- that’s the horrible thing I personally told him…. knowing just how heavy that would hit him coming from me.</p>
<p class="p1">I didn’t want him in my house- In my family. He wasn’t worth our name. He wasn’t worth <em>my </em>name. I said at the time that even ‘mongrel’ was too nice of a term for him. That it was insulting to actual mongrels. I refused to call him by anything other than his case number- that’s how hard I tried to get away from the situation.</p>
<p class="p1">So I washed my hands of him- just like everyone else. Honestly, maybe worse than everyone else. It was personal to all of us in a sense, but it was more personal to me.</p>
<p class="p1">The girls- my girls, that is- wanted to withhold judgment. They asked for a fair trial- for more evidence.For more time. Laura maintained that this wasn’t right- it wasn’t something her brother would do.... and I got it- she loved him so much. However, around that time she went off on one of those ‘missions’ that conveniently took her out of the picture for a while.</p>
<p class="p1">…Looking back from where I am right now,I’m wondering if that was purposefully orchestrated….</p>
<p class="p1">In the end, I got my daughters to semi-side with me. We agreed that yes, he would live. Killing him flat out would be way too much effort and it was something he wanted- death. He begged for it. Said he was innocent. Said he didn’t do it. Said he couldn’t live with all of these people hating him.</p>
<p class="p1">…he wanted to die so he wouldn’t suffer. And that? That wasn’t happening. Not on my watch.</p>
<p class="p1">Don’t get me wrong- I never planned to go back for him. No one planned to ever let him out. No one planned to let him live down the horrible things he did.</p>
<p class="p1">…but death?</p>
<p class="p1">No.</p>
<p class="p1">He wouldn’t be getting that. He wanted it too badly.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s common knowledge with parents that you can’t give in to the wants and desires of your horribly misbehaved brat. From the big things to the small. It’s simple really. You do NOT reward bad behavior.</p>
<p class="p1">We all agreed that while he was going to live in that hellhole I’d found for him, he wasn’t going to be in contact with anyone from the outside. Anyone. Not us- not his friends (Human, meta, or mutant), not his team, not his leaders… Not a single damn one of us. He was in exile now. He was too dangerous- too evil. Rabid is what we called him.</p>
<p class="p1">…we stripped him of everything. He was seeing someone at the time- the dude packed it in and left him on the spot. Told him he’d been cheating anyway. His sisters and I said that we no longer recognized him as part of our family. The x-men said they no longer recognized him as part of our people.</p>
<p class="p1">We knew he needed to keep the healing factor to stay alive- which is what we wanted. But the telepaths did this horribly painful ordeal of blocking off his pheromones. It hurt. I could see- we could see it. I swear if you walk through that council room- that courtyard- you can still hear the screams…</p>
<p class="p1">But that wasn’t our issue. He wasn’t part of our people anymore. Kinda made a scene of ripping his claws out when he was taken-it was bloody. It was violent. I don’t know which part of it was more upsetting for him- the pain, the humiliation, the utter amount of betrayal in his eyes.</p>
<p class="p1">….he sobbed for me to believe him. Begged me to listen. Begged me to let him explain. But he didn’t get that chance.</p>
<p class="p1">Because you do not reward… bad behavior.</p>
<p class="p1">The portal sealed after the guards dragged him through. Closed and locked. I turned on my heel and left the office building. Janitorial staff came in a cleaned up the blood. They asked what I wanted to do with the claws and I told them to put them where they belonged- in the trash.</p>
<p class="p1">In the trash just like every other piece of him.</p>
<p class="p1">I let him live because he wanted to die- that’s a simple as I can make it. He wanted death and while I didn’t flat out give it to him, I compromised by sending him to the lowest ring of hell I knew of- thrown to the hands of enemies who would care about him even less than we did.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s not a good place. It’s not a nice place. It’s the most awful place I could think of.</p>
<p class="p1">But he deserved it. Anytime I faltered- I thought of that trial. I thought of how I just couldn’t take my eyes off of that victim. So when the time came for judgment, you can make damn sure that I sent him exactly where he deserved to go. Somewhere that even if he’s alive- he’ll wish he was dead every single second of every single day. And that’s it- that’s the punishment. To want to die but never be allowed to. To suffer in silence and exile away from everyone you ever knew and loved.</p>
<p class="p1">That was my punishment. That is the last thing I told my son.</p>
<p class="p1">See…there’s no real justice in that prison. It’s not built for that. It’s not for ‘reform’ or ‘rehabilitation’. This is a prison out of a Victorian-era storybook. You don’t go there to get out. You go there to die.</p>
<p class="p1">…Or, in Daken’s case, suffer until the point of nonexistence.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s not that those people are completely evil- I don’t know a single one of ‘em by name so how the fuck would I know? They just do their jobs very well. Just as we need to make examples of people- they do as well. They do it professionally and they do it quietly. No government funding to worry about. No codes to follow. No families coming sniffing around for their loved ones. That’s not what happens in The Inferno.It’s hell…. More so, it’s the closest thing to hell that could be man-made. And that’s just what it’s for.</p>
<p class="p1">They exist to serve a very specific clientele- to handle a very specific issue. Mutants who need to be disposed of…painfully, quietly, and severely. Mutants that can also be of a little use before they’re put down. Labor and parts- that’s what they call it. Use 'em up, chop 'em up, and burn 'em down.</p>
<p class="p1">Torture is and never will be pretty… not to normal folks. Not to us ‘evolved’ peoples. What happens behind the walls of The Inferno goes beyond anything of your worst nightmares. It’s the kind of torture that horror movie geeks pop a million boners over. The kind that Hollywood will never be able to touch.</p>
<p class="p1">It is what it is, though… Those mutated sacks of shit…they got blood and organs and bones and shit. They got powers that are semi-useful. They got things that those at the prison can drain them of before they snuff them out. Call it some sort of ‘rehabilitation’ program. Whatever.</p>
<p class="p1">Back then, I had to make myself okay with this. I had to allow myself to grieve the loss of my son- or more so the loss of what he could be…But then I had to move on. I had to do more things. I had to push it as far as I could. I had to pretend that I'd never seen a single article on the Inferno. That I'd never seen anything related to his case. </p>
<p class="p1">You ask me about it at face value- sure. We'll talk. But... that ain't shit I'm bringing up on my own. Until lately, that is.</p>
<p class="p1">That’s a little preview of what the fuck is actually going on.</p>
<p class="p1">I got a call- a summons, an immediate one at that. Nothing was going on as far as I knew- nothing major on the books. But they were pretty damn insistent. Told me not to say a word to anyone and get to the Higher Council Chambers. The Five weren’t even in on it yet.</p>
<p class="p1">…that’s how fast it was.</p>
<p class="p1">So I showed up- annoyed and… well … curious. They wasted no time hitting me in the face with our little ‘issue’. The door hadn’t even closed fully when these people turned all of those wide and pitiful eyes on me.</p>
<p class="p1">I didn’t have to ask what was going on.I knew. How could I not? Staring into the eyes of teammates and friends, I had to accept in the longest thirty seconds of my life…. That I’d fucked up.</p>
<p class="p1">That I’d fucked up real bad.</p>
<p class="p1">….kinda a parent's intuition there.</p>
<p class="p1">In this moment my world-my life my future my present my past…? It’s over. I can’t move from this second. I can’t go forwards, I can’t go back, I can just stay put- feeling the world swirl around me like a hurricane. </p>
<p class="p1">The news they told me.... it was decimating. I felt like I'd taken a bite out of a nuke. One that fried me from the inside out. But….it wasn’t just me. Oh no. Every face in the room was pale. There were people in the midst of trying not to have panic attacks. Trying not to vomit in some cases.</p>
<p class="p1">So what news can have that kinda power? The power to stop me in my tracks? The power to make other strong and powerful mutant’s sick upon hearing it uttered? </p>
<p class="p1">A mistake. A mistrial. A deception.</p>
<p class="p1">Turns out, the boy was<em> innocent</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">No- no. Not was- IS. He IS innocent. </p>
<p class="p1">At this very moment- he is endlessly paying for a crime he did not commit. At this moment, he is in pain and untold amounts of suffering thinking that there’s not a single god damn person in the world who values him as a person.</p>
<p class="p1">…Daken never lied. (Well, not about this.) He never lied- he never attacked that man. He never hurt him. He never even touched him. He's been innocent all along. <em>Innocent</em> in his trial. <em>Innocent</em> in his sentencing. <em>Innocent</em> in his sentence.</p>
<p class="p1">And I sent him away. I did that.</p>
<p class="p1">We got duked. All of us. Chuck, me, Erik, Jeanie, Summers- it’s ENDLESS. We were played. We were played and had one of our own violently silenced by our damn hands.</p>
<p class="p1">No matter what mental hoops we’ve tried jumping through to try and make our ruling make sense even slightly- we can’t. It doesn’t make sense. It wasn’t supposed to happen. These things aren’t supposed to happen to people.</p>
<p class="p1">… This was a mistrial. This was a mockery of justice.</p>
<p class="p1">….This was a setup. Someone set him up and let him fall.</p>
<p class="p1">After eight fucking years, it was a hard story to stomach. It seemed so far fetched. I swore that someone was fucking me with me and I was <em>beyond </em>pissed.</p>
<p class="p1">As it turns out…they weren’t. They weren’t fucking with me.</p>
<p class="p1">No more lies were surrounding this. There were no more red herrings or smoke screens.</p>
<p class="p1">We now know what happened. We know what happened because we got the best and most valid witness a person can get- The victim themselves.</p>
<p class="p1">Him. That’s right- Daken’s ‘victim’.</p>
<p class="p1">That ‘strong backed national treasure’? He showed up yesterday- right out of the blue. That man who we all fell head over heels for? Well, he was missing a few scars that he definitely should have had after Daken's 'attack' on him. It went beyond that. There was no limp. There was no permanent damage. He was smiling and waving to people- being bright and cheerful.<br/>
That man? He wasn’t hurt.</p>
<p class="p1">…and I just stared at him. And I stared. And I wondered how the fuck he could be moving like he was. How he wasn’t scarred all to hell and back? He lived - yea- but he wasn’t resurrected. As I knew…. He didn’t have any surgeries on his way out. He said he ‘wanted to remember what he’d survived’. He wanted the ‘scars’.</p>
<p class="p1">…pretty easy to remember what you survived when it didn’t happen to begin with, huh?</p>
<p class="p1">That man bore no scars. There was nothing wrong with him. He looked great- actually. Tanned and well-fed. Finer dressed than when we last saw him.</p>
<p class="p1">That bastard- I can’t get his stupid face out of my mind- walked his happy ass straight into our council room and proclaimed loudly and for all to hear that he’d lied. He made it up. The whole thing. It was a scam. It was a scam that we, as an entire people, were stupid enough to fall for.</p>
<p class="p1">That’s right- he’d lied.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d lied about everything.</p>
<p class="p1">He suffered no attack. He suffered no damage. Daken hadn’t even <em>approached</em> him. He just took the scam as far as he could go to see what we’d be willing to do. A little test of some sort, maybe?He’s a mutant, obviously- and he’s good. He’s damn good. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more persuasive than this asshole.</p>
<p class="p1">Still- after eight years of falsely imprisoning someone on a fake charge, we were moving kinda slow. Not wanting to believe it. After all, why the fuck would this asshole come BACK and confess something this awful?</p>
<p class="p1">But it got worse. When we were too slow on the uptake, he started to give proof of it-proof that was undeniable and unaltered.</p>
<p class="p1">He revealed that this scam worked 9/10 times.But only if the people around him were willing to be misled. If he can manage to pull it out? He’s rich. Like out of this world rich.</p>
<p class="p1">…I couldn’t understand why the fuck he would need all the money if he was staying her eon Krakoa. Money is not needed. But it turns out- it’s for more than money. And that asshole? He never had any plans of staying on Krakoa.</p>
<p class="p1">This was his scam- his game. He played it well, got what he wanted, and then fucked off.</p>
<p class="p1">Just like our human ‘friends’ at the Inferno, this man is also hired to handle a very specific clientele. This guy- we don’t even know his real name- is in charge of putting people away. All kinds of people. If someone puts the right bounty and the game is interesting enough- he’ll take it. Sneaking onto an island crawling with Omega Level mutants and taking someone in such a violent and permanent way…? That was fun for him. That was a risk. That was interesting.</p>
<p class="p1">When he takes his victims, they usually don’t survive. If Daken’s healing factor has slipped during the last eight years…. He’s dead. We will not be able to bring him back.</p>
<p class="p1">…thank god that from what we know at the moment, he’s alive. Let’s hope we can keep him there.</p>
<p class="p1">Our little victim deals with victims that he can put down for a long time. He makes it so that no one will ever come sniffing around for them. He makes them hated- despised.With his powers of manipulation- he can make police and investigators overlook actual evidence. He can make them believe that his victims are anywhere he wants them to be- even if there are actual alibis that they’re not.</p>
<p class="p1">On top of his handy dandy mindfucking powers- he’s an actor. An accomplished one.<br/>
Just let me say that I’ll be boycotting Hollywood for a WHILE.(Not that I was a big movie guy, to begin with.) This 'actor extraordinaire' told us, proudly at that, that he’d done this ten other times. Ten other times and he’s never failed- not even once.</p>
<p class="p1">All he does is mind fuck everyone involved- it's as simple as that.  Just like I said Chuck could do if he wanted. This asshole just took the initiative, I guess.</p>
<p class="p1">I’ve been going through the steps of his plan repeatedly- taking them from the top to the bottom.<br/>
Honestly? It’s pretty ingenious. It’s all about manipulation and perspective. Making people see things how he wants them to be seen. He can’t really go into a mind and make it obey- he just coaxes it. Using powers, acting, and just general sociopathy. He can turn <em>anyone</em>. And if he can’t turn them? He can make them leave.</p>
<p class="p1">The scam only has a few steps. ..But they’re in-depth. He spelled it all out for us.</p>
<p class="p1">With his first move, he sizes up his mark. Gets to know them without actually contacting them. Gets their habits down. Gets them unaware- typical stalkier stuff. Then while doing this, he starts to insert himself into their lives. Maybe they don’t notice at first- maybe they do. He’s able to dull their reaction to him in the beginning. Then he starts some manipulation. Makes them untrustworthy to others. Steals friends and family. Shit like that. He gaslights them. He makes it seem like they’re going crazy- crazy for not liking him. Talks them into believing that everyone is hating them because there’s something wrong with them. Tells them that if they want to be better- they just have to do it.</p>
<p class="p1">At this point? He is setting himself up as the least threatening individual in his little head game. But all of that?That’s just the start. He ups his game then- seeing how many of his victim’s loved ones he can fool. He takes joy as he makes them believe him- a stranger- over the victim. Then things will start to move faster. He drives everyone away from his victim. He isolates them. He lowers them as far as they can go. Every time the victim tries to fight back? They’re just struck down faster and faster- harder and harder. The harder they fight the harder they fall.</p>
<p class="p1">This asshole will go out of his way to make everyone around him feel bad for him. Everything the victim does is against him. He can’t understand why oh why this person just hates him SO much.</p>
<p class="p1">…then he gets ‘scared’. And once he’s scared? Then he starts making unfounded claims. Starts trying to insinuate the victim is places they’re not. Tries to say they said things they didn’t say. Doctored letters and photos. Any sense of ‘truth’ anyone thought that victim had? It’s dashed. No one believes them.</p>
<p class="p1">This asshole…. I gotta give it to him…He’s a mutant with the highest level of persuasion I’ve ever met. Looking in his eyes and hearing him say all those awful things... I was scared. Terrified. </p>
<p class="p1">I was terrified because we’d bought it…because I’d bought it.</p>
<p class="p1">Those things that he claimed Daken had done? He’d actually done to Daken- multiple times over, I’d guess. The blood on the ground? It was Daken’s. The bruises on Daken when we found him- real. The slashes- real. His suicidal urges? Real. His tears? Real.</p>
<p class="p1">But his conviction…? False. Utter bullshit.</p>
<p class="p1">He <em>never</em> touched that man.</p>
<p class="p1">This blonde headed asshole has a charming smile and big blue eyes that just lull you into a false sense of security. You trust him just because he’s so damn trustable- that's it. He’s powerful and he’s got ‘trustworthy’ features.</p>
<p class="p1">And that's how it works.It’s as simple as he could lay it out for us.</p>
<p class="p1">...and we didn't catch him. </p>
<p class="p1">There’s a time limit on his silence, apparently- though. Another little money grabbing scam. This is where we're getting this 'breaking news' from. This is why he’s had a ‘change of heart’.</p>
<p class="p1">Once the deed is done, he charges his fee and the fee for an NDA. BUT he’s got a little loophole that the NDA has to be ‘refreshed’ every few years- four times the original price. If it’s not- if the price can’t be paid- he goes back to the victim’s people (for lack of a better word) and spills the beans. He’s got immunity from some legal bullshit that keeps him from jail time- I doubt it’s anything on paper above some shitty Mafia boss's poker table.</p>
<p class="p1">So now we know what he’s done-he comes back and clears his consciousness. Someone back in the human world will get arrested. So then, he takes his slimy ass to wherever they are and offers a new NDA like deal for twice the price of the original- that’s a discount. By then, it’s too late though because the actual victim’s fate has been brought back into the light.</p>
<p class="p1">Not being able to persuade any more of the victim's friends or families, he offers his services back to his boss to persuade the judges and courts to let them go. Does a little act, shares a little power… and now he’s got judges, bad guys, cops, and innocents all under his grubby little fingers.</p>
<p class="p1">It sounds complicated when I repeat it- but when he tells it, it really is just like he’s reading the rules to some sort of board game. He goes through it and says what you’re supposed to do, what he did, and what he would do differently.<br/>
..guess that’s supposed to make us feel better?</p>
<p class="p1">Look- As fucked as it is- this is a money-making machine. The process can easily make this man a billionaire with just one case. He’s had ten. It’s stunning with just how perfectly it’s executed.</p>
<p class="p1">He explained everything so cooly- his voice much different than the last time we spoke. Showed us proof- let our telepaths root through his mind while wearing a functional power inhibitor-  meaning he couldn’t influence them. And believe you me- we tested that shit. He showed us everything we did as well-  it was like getting punched in the gut with a cannonball.</p>
<p class="p1">They called for evidence- anything relating to the trial. Clips, videos, interviews, ANYTHING.</p>
<p class="p1">….and we got it. We got it all. It was actually easy to find because it’d never even been <em>opened</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">The evidence baggies- what few we had? They were still sealed tight- taken straight from the scene. There are blood splatters on the floor- they were ignored. There was skin under Daken’s fingernails- fingernails which, if you look at the pictures they took- had been broken- like he was trying to push the asshole off of him. There was saliva and semen- things that could have easily set Daken free… but they were also ignored.</p>
<p class="p1">Bloodied clothing- ignored.</p>
<p class="p1">Daken apparently tried to submit MONTHS of digital evidence that this man had been doing all of this to him- but he was ignored.</p>
<p class="p1">They ruled out the evidence. Said it was doctored.</p>
<p class="p1">Took our eggheads two minutes yesterday to say that it wasn’t.Everything he tried to tell us was true. His entire species was turned against him in a manner of months.</p>
<p class="p1">…and I let that happen.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s for a formality at the moment, I know, but we are sorting through all the evidence in a trial-like setting. A relaxed one- but a trial just the same.</p>
<p class="p1">When the first one came around, everything Daken said- regardless of what it was- was completely overruled. He could have said that the sky was blue and fifty people would be out there trying to disprove him. Daken wasn't allowed a lawyer- how did we not notice that??- and the judge didn’t even let him speak. Said he didn’t have the ‘mental wherewithal’.</p>
<p class="p1">I saw the clips from that day. He wasn’t ‘feral’ or ‘rabid’. The kid was scared.</p>
<p class="p1">As soon as this asshole batted those pretty blue eyes- we all just fell the fuck in line. There was no justice here.</p>
<p class="p1">Thing is- like I said- I get to decide where our guilty go... and I sent him to Hell. The Inferno is hell on earth. Literally. I threw him into hell.</p>
<p class="p1">...so was I manipulated into doing that awful placement...or did I do it because I was mad at him? </p>
<p class="p1">I sent him there knowing in a roundabout way what they would do to him. I sent him there without even listening to his side of the story.</p>
<p class="p1">My guilt.... my pain... this is unimaginable.</p>
<p class="p1">He went into that hellhole knowing he was innocent and knowing that even though he was, everyone he ever knew and loved now hated him. That they would tear him to pieces if given the chance. He pleaded with me to listen- was desperate for me to know that no one was listening. That he hadn’t given a statement. That he hadn’t been given any legal representation. And the most fucked up thing about that was that I laughed at him. <em>I laughed</em>. Asked him why the ever-loving fuck we’d waste time and resources on HIM.</p>
<p class="p1">Daken’s not a monster. He didn’t do these things. He went through the shittiest time of his life untrusted, unloved, and hated. That's the final trick of it- he had to suffer out in the open with no one to believe him- it was the only way that he could be broken down so completely.... and so quickly. </p>
<p class="p1">I'd take it back. I'd take it back in a second. I'd throw myself to this damn island if I knew he was innocent. If I'd known I could have saved him. </p>
<p class="p1">...but I was mad. I was mad and so I was cruel. I did not detach myself from that case- not like they said I did.</p>
<p class="p1">No parent should look at their child and say what I said to him. No parent should feel that level of detachment when their child is <em>begging</em> them just for a chance to speak. <br/>
<br/>
I'm scrambling to right this- as we all are. We gotta move fast- because every second he stays there... it's another second I've taken from him. We had to present the jailers with fifty million documents. Fifty million pardons. Fifty million blood samples. They didn’t do this to be cruel for the sake of stalling and being cruel- I know it. They just couldn’t bring themselves to believe that they’d done this to an innocent man.</p>
<p class="p1">Like I said, I’ve never seen the inside the Inferno in person before. I’ve seen the pictures, I’ve seen the articles, I’ve seen the mission briefings- but that’s it. Everything I’ve been told of what happens when they… go.</p>
<p class="p1">At this moment…. I get that I don’t know the fucking half of it.</p>
<p class="p1">The Inferno is not a place for civilized people. I’m starting to think, given what we did to him here, Krakoa may not be either.</p>
<p class="p1">Daken’s been mercilessly cast from one bad situation to another. I stand here looking around this room- seeing friends and sorrow… and I don’t know what to do.</p>
<p class="p1">Our council chambers are usually held within some sort of treehouse bullshit. Don’t look at me- I didn’t design it. It gives us a bright view of the island through windows and well-placed roots. The room’s large- real large. Tables spread out before me- all circling the open floor on which I’m standing. Everyone else took a seat…. But I couldn’t bring myself to. The flooring underfoot is too clean- too shiny. It looks like someone actually took the time to clean up in here before the meeting.</p>
<p class="p1">…that bothers me. I feel like we’re wasting time. I feel like the Inferno is wasting time. I feel like Chuck is wasting time. I feel like <em>I’m</em> wasting time.</p>
<p class="p1">No one really wants to deal with this, I don’t think. I don’t think we know how.</p>
<p class="p1">…I don’t think I want to know how.</p>
<p class="p1">From the tables of seated council peoples, I manage to catch more than a few calculated glances from my fiancé - who’s sitting next to his sister. (step-sister? it’s weird with those two). Thing is… Elf’s not looking at me- not really. He’s looking at <em>them. The others. </em></p>
<p class="p1">I get the feeling that he thinks something’s up. Which is good. I need him on guard.</p>
<p class="p1">Up until three hours ago- the Warden at the Inferno and his employees were ordered to go on with their lives and daily activities as if everything were normal. This little mix up isn’t only shaking us up- it’s hitting them pretty hard too. To keep staff safe, they gotta keep the prisoners in line. To do that, the ships gotta keep the course while we sort of the ordeal and the small matter of this mishaps authenticity.<br/>
It’s really fucking shitty- but I get it. I get it. It’s bad for them if we show up and trick them into just letting someone go. Especially with the ‘crimes’ Daken’s committed.Mutants can’t just go around willy nilly taking whoever the fuck we want whenever the fuck we want.</p>
<p class="p1">Doesn’t make this any easier to swallow. May make it worse, actually.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s completely possible that at this moment, Daken doesn’t have a fucking clue that he’s about to be pardoned.They said they couldn’t tell him that release was even an <em>option</em>. Until everything is hammered out, he will have no idea that today is any different than any other day over the last eight years. They will not be going easy on him. They will stay the course right up until there is undeniable proof that this isn’t some sort of mindfuck we’re trying to pull.</p>
<p class="p1">Because of this, Daken doesn’t know that we’re coming to save him. He doesn’t know that he’s a free man. It’s just another day for him… And that fucks me up. I mean, think about this. We’re just supposed to just show up with a pardon and tell him that someone else confessed? That his botched trial was just that- a botched trial? That us, the x-men, the leaders of righteousness and whatever the fuck, decided that based on his past- one we promised to give him a chance to right- he was guilty before the trial even started? We’re supposed to go ‘whoops, our bad’ and then settle it?</p>
<p class="p1">...This won’t work like that. If it did- we’d be more fucked than I thought we would.</p>
<p class="p1">We took this matter up to the Council privately. Don’t want rumors spreading before we know for sure what’s going on. The evidence though.... this shit that's laid out in front of us- is more than damning.</p>
<p class="p1">It has to be announced to us- piece by piece- while we record it.</p>
<p class="p1">No one really wanted to do the announcing, so we <span class="Apple-converted-space">g</span>ot Hank. He understands legal terminology a bit better than us anyway.He’s stalled out at the moment though. You can hear the room wait with bated breath.</p>
<p class="p1">…I don’t know why we’re even bothering.</p>
<p class="p1">Hank rummages through the large brown box on the table in front of him. “This has been resubmitted as evidence…” he coughs into his hand, “Under the grounds of… unfair dismissal during the previous trial.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hank sounds tough. Choked up. He doesn’t like this any more than I do. Anymore than ANY of us do.</p>
<p class="p1">"Continue, if you will, Hank." Chuck prods carefully. “we need to keep moving.”</p>
<p class="p1">"Of course." Hank nods, starting at the sheet of paper in his large blue paws. “The blood splatters from examples a- e are inconsistent with the  'original' victim- hereby referred to as Victim 'a'. ” He says. “The samples were unopened and untested until four hours ago- which is round about eight years after the trial and sentencing.”</p>
<p class="p1">There’s a sense of shared nausea that heightens with each of Hank’s statements.</p>
<p class="p1">“'Victim A's' pictures show no substantial bruises or lacerations at the time of the 'attack'.  There is no evidence of sexual or physical assault. The victim’s- a that is- testimony was changed three times on the stand and to the authorities- but the discrepancies were unnoted.” He glances around our table. Me, Kurt, Rogue, Erik, Chuck, Frost, and Hank. A sorry bunch of assholes. The council in front of me has never looked more grave.</p>
<p class="p1">“The supposed attacker- hereby known as the 'victim' for ease-  had …” Hanks stops, coughing in that way that says someone is trying not to visibly cry or be too upset. “Five alibis.” He says. “Confirmed. These went unnoticed and were not brought up in trial. No legal repression was given to the victim. No conclusive reports were taken. The public and therefore the jury and sentencing were manipulated by the powers and outside motives of 'victim a'.” He sets the folder down on a table. “In conclusion, there was no just means of incarnation or sentencing.” He leans on the table with his arms crossed. “We’ve condemned an innocent man with very little care at all.”</p>
<p class="p1">I can barely hold myself together at this point. He’s innocent. The whole time… he didn’t do it.</p>
<p class="p1">...It was a setup and no one would even give him the slightest benefit of the doubt, including me.</p>
<p class="p1">“All in favor of immediate retrieval…” Everyone raises a hand. “Passed,” Chuck says. “We will commence with retrieval as soon as we can establish contact with-“</p>
<p class="p1">I kinda just slip out the back of the room- unable to really focus. I hear ‘em, though. I hear the whispers. I hear the comments being made. I hear the numbers on our machines being dialed…. Someone’s setting up a portal- quick and easy. We call the Warden up, give him what he needs to hear, step through the portal …. And then we get my kid.</p>
<p class="p1">…that’s what’s fucking me up though.<br/>
Anytime during the last eight years, someone could have rechecked that evidence. Every single person in that council room has some kind of right to do so.<br/>
Myself included.</p>
<p class="p1">Eight years of hell and I wouldn’t even bother to give it a second look. I don’t know what else I’m supposed to say. If Romulus were around, he’d be laughing his black little heart out. He always wanted Daken to hate me.</p>
<p class="p1">…guess he would be shocked knowing that it was me who ended up hating Daken.</p>
<p class="p1">I mean- no. That’s not true. I never hated him. I could never hate him- not really. But I was cruel to him. I was callous. I was distant.</p>
<p class="p1">That kid came here giving this place literally everything he had in him.</p>
<p class="p1">…and we just took it away.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">When shit went down and he needed me to trust him… and I didn’t.</p>
<p class="p1">When he needed one single person on this god damn island to take him seriously...it wasn't me. His sister wanted to- but she was sent away. That can't be.... that can't be on accident. This asshole was in our heads. He was in our emotions. </p>
<p class="p1">We didn't test.... we didn't test evidence. We didn't open it. No one opened it. On that table is a full box of evidence that we never even bothered to look through. One look in this fucking box and Daken’s name would have been cleared <em>instantly</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">…but it wasn’t. <em>Because we didn’t look</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">We let some asshole come in here and steamroll over everything we would have normally done and tell us- us- that the boy was guilty without a doubt.</p>
<p class="p1">I’m sick to my stomach in a way that I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. I want him freed immediately- I want to take a portal to that fucking Hell pit and shove a damn pardon down their throats. I want to take my kid and get him the fuck away from there.</p>
<p class="p1">….But I can’t. Because there are steps to take….and we’re already in uncharted territory here.</p>
<p class="p1">The council dismisses from the other room and I can hear Chuck contact the Warden via one of our satellites. The last bit of evidence has been submitted. It’s been received. As of the time of the phone call, every ‘disciplinary action’ they’re currently enacting is to be stopped that very second.</p>
<p class="p1">Chuck asks what the physical state of my boy is and the man deflects. It’s obvious he doesn’t want to say. All he manages to get out is that Daken is, in the end, a regenerator and as such is very much alive. That during the entire eight years of imprisonment, Daken has remained just that- alive. He promises that Daken’s return should be without major consequence. That the healing process will be fast and easy granted the right conditions and the right medical care.<br/>
<br/>
Sound professional- right? Sounds like he’s done this a million times before.</p>
<p class="p1">That’s a fucking joke- let me tell ya right there. Regardless of what tone he’s trying to give Chuck? I hear it. The Warden? He’s spooked. Sounds like he may have even recently hurled. There’s a tremor to his voice that just makes him sound unsure.</p>
<p class="p1">He knows what he and his people do in that little Inferno of his. He knows the kind of ship he runs. I doubt he’s EVER had to look a prisoner in the eye after doing those things to them knowing they were going to walk away from it. I bet the fact that eight years of his best and most promising torture work being done on an innocent man ain’t sitting too well with him anyway.</p>
<p class="p1">….hate to say that that’s probably a feeling we’re all gonna have to pony up to within the next hour or so.</p>
<p class="p1">I’m gonna actively try to give the Warden a break here- I’mma try real hard. I know that he was in the dark just as much as we were. If he believed every single person who claimed innocence? We’d have a lot of dangerous people out there walking around.</p>
<p class="p1">I don’t know what it takes for him to do his job- I don’t know what it takes for him to look at himself…. But I’m gonna try not to judge him too harshly.</p>
<p class="p1">“The important thing is that we’ve stopped.” The Warden says. “The damage is… unthinkable, I will admit, but please understand that his placement here was not something of our own doing. YOU sent him here. We do not review cases. No one is allowed parole. So anything we’ve done is completely legal and was done with your personal consent.”</p>
<p class="p1">That fucking hits like being beamed in the head with a concrete brick. I know for a fact that not a single fucking thing that goes on in The Inferno is even remotely ‘legal’. Place has been standing for two fucking centuries. Doubt the government even knows it actually exists.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes, Warden. There are no legal ramifications on your end. Your part of this is not to be called into question- I am aware.” Chuck says this diplomatically and with a tone of sincere ‘understanding’.</p>
<p class="p1">“And I thank you for your understanding.” The Warden says, somewhat stiffly.</p>
<p class="p1">And with that, Chuck starts to navigate through the thick veils of bullshit. Pick up times- for one. Pick up times that are taking way too fucking long in my opinion. Then he’s gotta hammer out what statement we would be making to the other citizens- The NDA we would be drafting with said prison. All of those things sound impersonal and distant.</p>
<p class="p1">Chuck and the Warden are both locked in a match of ‘diplomatically’ covering their own asses. They’re polite but firm. No one wants to be pulled out into this. Not like this. Not right now.</p>
<p class="p1">I’m outside of the main council office- hearing all of this through the door while I sit in shock. I was expecting rage- and it’s here. But really? It’s shame. I’m ashamed that someone made me think about my own kid like that.<br/>
<br/>
I’m ashamed that I couldn’t look past my own anger to see that something truly was wrong.</p>
<p class="p1">I’m ashamed that I wouldn’t listen to my daughter.</p>
<p class="p1">….I’m ashamed and I don’t know…. What to do about it.</p>
<p class="p1">Everyone in that room- on this fucking island- is going to be looking at me. They’re going to see how awful I am- what I was willing to do. And that’s fine- I can take that.</p>
<p class="p1">…But what happens when I bring HIM home? How will HE take it?</p>
<p class="p1">These people were monsters to him. He was beaten and hit and just knocked down in every sense of the word. Come tonight, he’ll be back here with them. And they’ll notice. I can almost hear the whispers now.</p>
<p class="p1">But what are we supposed to do? Really?What do we do? What <em>can</em> we do?</p>
<p class="p1">Do we just…. Pick him up from torture camp and bring him home? Call it done and over with and just go back to where we were eight years ago?</p>
<p class="p1">I keep replaying just what I should say- but nothing comes to mind. I mean am I supposed to go, “Welcome home, kid! Sorry for the eight years of false imprisonment and heavy torture- why don’t you go get cleaned up for the first meal you’ve had in a year or so? We made your favorite! Non-torture prison food!”</p>
<p class="p1">I can’t forget the look on his face- like he couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t believe him. Like he couldn’t believe that everyone was just so quick to hate him. That I was so easy to hate him.</p>
<p class="p1">We didn’t even blink- none of us. Why didn’t we pause- why didn't we blink? Why didn’t we try to look past the asshole who’s made a fool out of every single fucking one of us and made us send one of our own into the pits of hell on a whim?</p>
<p class="p1">…who wanted Daken out of the picture THAT badly??</p>
<p class="p1">I mean my first thought is Romulus but he wouldn’t have had someone else do his dirty work- not like this. Chuck can say whatever the fuck he wants about blondie boy- Really. But I’m going to track down that lying asshole and get the name of his ‘customer’ one way or another. If he’s any kind of smart, he’ll give it to me quick and fast before he finds himself somewhere WORSE.</p>
<p class="p1">I’ve never been much of a nervous type, but fuck am I now. Waiting here on this bench and feeling like I’ll hurl if I move.</p>
<p class="p1">These benches aren’t meant for liquids like vomit- kinda would really mess with the wood or some shit. The floors are nice and clean out here, though. Guess they could take the hit if I were really pressed.</p>
<p class="p1">…then again, I can’t remember the last thing I actually ate. Kurt and I had lunch yesterday… surely. I think I remember him cooking… Anyway, puking may be a harder task than I think.</p>
<p class="p1">The door behind me opens and lets out Kurt and Rogue, both of who have been very involved with settling this issue as much as they can but not involved with Chuck’s phone call.</p>
<p class="p1">The council room has about three exits- I would bet they chose the one behind me instead of in front so as to have a few moments to talk amongst themselves without Chuck or Erik overhearing.</p>
<p class="p1">“Hey, Logan.” Rogue gently places her hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. “How ya holding up?”</p>
<p class="p1">Me? How I’m holding up?</p>
<p class="p1">“Great.” I nod sarcastically. “I Just… ya know, condemned my innocent kid to a raging hell pit for eight years on the whim of some asshole I didn’t even know-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Got ya.” Rogue cuts me off. “Loud and clear.”</p>
<p class="p1">“….you hear anything about his…. state?” I ask.</p>
<p class="p1">Rogue nods. “He’s… pretty burnt up right now. They said he fell? Anyway, the retrieval team’s leaving in ten. You should be there. For him.” She pauses. “…And maybe for you, too? Think he’d like to see his daddy.”</p>
<p class="p1">Why the fuck wouldn’t I be? Can’t abandon him twice over the same bullshit.</p>
<p class="p1">“....Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” This falls through the air tonelessly. “Heard the first sleep-away camp is a always a dozy.”</p>
<p class="p1">My dry sense of humor isn’t making this any better…. But sarcasm feels good on me.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m so sorry, Logan,” Rogue says, sincerity in her eyes as she squeezes my shoulder.</p>
<p class="p1">Her long white opera glove hitched all the way up to the armpit of her usual yellow and green bodysuit get up. Wonder why she’s wearing them again? Thought they’d worked that out for her...</p>
<p class="p1">“Daken…. It’s just that he’ll be less likely to freak outif you're there… ya know?” She asks. “We gotta keep him as calm as possible while he’s there… other prisoners aren’t supposed to know.” Rogue's tone is quiet and timid- almost. Can't say I blame her. “Professor says that he’s pretty … torn up… it’s gonna take some elbow grease to get him out.”</p>
<p class="p1">That’s a nice way to say that- isn’t it?</p>
<p class="p1">“Torn up or fucked up?” I scoff bitterly.</p>
<p class="p1">“Guess that’s for you to decide.” She says, not giving in to my shitty baiting. “Either way- you need to be there.”</p>
<p class="p1">Rogue’s a good person- she’s a good hero. Girl’s got a good heart and I appreciate her company… but to be honest, it’s her brother I need to hear from right now. Not her.</p>
<p class="p1">We haven’t spent much of today together and I feel like I’m losing it way faster than I should be. He was already awake when I got up this morning. It’s not like Kurt to hold his tongue when he’s got something this important to discuss- but he didn’t say much. It was fucking scary.</p>
<p class="p1">“We’ll make sure this is a smooth adjustment from …where he is to here,” Kurt says, faltering slightly- just like Rogue did. He knows me better than her, though. He knows that no matter what he says- I’ll hear just how he said it. And then regardless of what was intended, I’ll know what actually is.</p>
<p class="p1">Today…I can hear the pain in his tone- stronger than most. Makes sense, doesn’t it? He’s more involved with the situation. We were already together when Daken moved here, to begin with. He knows Daken more personally. It wasn’t just ‘oh that’s Logan’s son’ like most people. It was more of a ‘that’s the son of my partner’. Ya know how strange relationships can get with kids involved.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt tends to take a different tone when he’s doing ‘official’ work. We have to seem professional, after all. We’re important figures in this place.  The fact that we’ve been together for ten years now doesn’t need to be broadcast all over the damn island.  Everyone already knows it anyway- we’re not hiding it.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt’s tone says one thing here but his eyes say another. That’s what gives him away in my book. I’ve heard people say they find those golden orbs eerie. Me? I love the mystery of it. The way you can decipher what means what at a simple glance.</p>
<p class="p1">...maybe that’s the issue at large- huh? People not taking the time to decipher and learn.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt’s steadier than I am when it comes to emotional things- He almost always has been. When I pop off, he waits and analyzes. He stays steady and stable when I’m about to go flying off the rails just so he can yank me back from doing something stupid. He’s calm under every type of pressure. I guess that’s part of what makes the two of us work so well together.</p>
<p class="p1">He takes my hand, holding it and providing me with what I need- solidity. Stability. “We’re going to bring him home.” He says quietly. “I promise.”</p>
<p class="p1">I’d like to say my lover’s having a better day than I am… but I know it’s a lie. He looks a little rough. Got some pieces of his uniform missing- but not in the battle-torn way. Just in a ‘distractedly forgot where I put my things’ sort of way. Kurt? He doesn’t do that often. In fact, if anyone in our home knows where any given item is at any given time- it’s him.</p>
<p class="p1">I accept his comfort with a slight nod, trying to swallow down the word vomit that feels like I’m about to spew all over him.</p>
<p class="p1">“I just-“ I have to stop- just shaking my head. “I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know how I LET this happen.”</p>
<p class="p1">And that’s it- isn’t it? I let it happen. I sent him away. Whatever has happened to him over the last eight years? It’s because of a choice I made. So what’s he going to think when I show up, huh? That I sent him away because I was mad at him? That I sent him away because he was unwanted?</p>
<p class="p1">…because I did. At the moment- I did do it for exactly those reasons.</p>
<p class="p1">“You didn’t <em>let</em> this happen, Logan. You were<em> manipulated</em>,” Kurt says, squeezing my hand in his own oddly crafted one. “As <em>we all</em> were. We can’t fix that at the moment- we can’t change it or erase it. There is no denying what has been done. What we can do is bring him home and try to help him cope with whatever he’s got left within that he's willing to fight for.”</p>
<p class="p1">With whatever he’s got left?</p>
<p class="p1">“With whatever he’s got left??” I scoff. “Do you hear yourself?? He doesn’t have anything left because I TOOK it from him. <em>I </em>ruined him. I ruined my <em>own </em>kid.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s not like that, and you know it.” Kurt soothes, his voice low and tired. “This isn’t on any one of us alone. We all fell for it. The man was a manipulator of the highest caliber. We didn’t know any better.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea? Well... we should have. We should have known better. We didn’t even think to test the damn blood samples!!! That is literal genetically provable EVIDENCE in a neatly labeled box…” I say. “We didn’t even open them!”</p>
<p class="p1">Elf's wearing his more 'serious' uniform today. Think he's been out somewhere other than our meeting. I know if he was, he's been doing something FOR our meeting. I've always enjoyed the reds and blacks on him- but I've never seen him look so washed out in them before. It's easy to tell that the Elf ain't feeling his best right now.</p>
<p class="p1">"Logan, listen to me," Kurt crouches down in front of me, forcing eye contact. “Please.”</p>
<p class="p1">I nod. “I’m listening.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Good. Understand that we did not know what was happening and we made a mistake. It is a very grave and painful and terrifying mistake... but it is just that- a mistake. ” He says this very slowly- as if trying to force it into my head. “Not a single person had a clue of what was being done- not you, not me, not Charles- no one. We moved along with the evidence we were tricked into thinking we had. In our minds- in the minds of all who live on Krakoa- we did what we did because we were made to think it was the right step to take. It obviously was not. Sitting here on this bench and beating yourself up over it will not help him right now. You need to steady yourself and go get him. He needs you now more than ever.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I don’t know-“</p>
<p class="p1">“There’s nothing TO know.” Kurt interrupts, somewhat hotly. “Get off your ass, stop wallowing in self-pity, and do what you have to do. Go. Now. Bring him home. Bring him home <em>safely</em>. Bring him home and don’t let him go until he is secured in our home. Do you understand?”</p>
<p class="p1">I can feel my eyes widen. People would like to think that it’s possible for me to just steamroll Kurt over. But it ain’t. Look at his breeding- there’s a helluva lot a Raven hiding behind those eyes.</p>
<p class="p1">Rouge clears her throat from behind us- kinda forgot she was there. “Seems like y’all need a minute. I'mma go check on the medical staff. Catch up with me in a few, Kurt?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course.” He nods, not really looking away from me.</p>
<p class="p1">“Good luck, Logan.” She nods to me as she passes. “Get him home safe.”</p>
<p class="p1">There’s a small awkward pause before I let loose just the smallest sigh. “Think she’ll ever really ‘approve’?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Not in this lifetime.” He smirks.“I don’t see why it would matter at the moment.”</p>
<p class="p1">That’s it- that’s our little laugh for now. Time to push on.</p>
<p class="p1">“What you just said… about getting him home and not letting go until he’s… safe… what were you talking about?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I was talking about motivating you from your self-destructive spiral long enough to go retrieve him, is all.”</p>
<p class="p1">“No, you weren’t,” I argue. “You know something.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I know many things. You’ll have to be specific.” The blue man in front of me has the same patient look he’s always had- but it’s tinted with just a twinge of something else. Stubbornness - plain and simple. He’s been fighting for Daken all night- even when I had to tap out. He’s been tracking down documents, helping find paper trails, briefing the Warden- damn near pestering the man to death from what I understand.<br/>
<br/>
“Okay, Smartass,” I say, crossing my arms and leaning back. “What do you know about the Inferno?”</p>
<p class="p1">“What makes you think I know anything you don’t?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Because that ain’t you,” I say. “You work problems out. You dig. You learn. You record. If something is going on there that I don’t know- I have a feeling that you do.”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt stares at me somewhat blankly. “The portal is being charged now, love. What I do or do not know is not a matter of bearing at this moment as you’re about to go see for yourself.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You know how bad it is,” I state- not ask. Kurt has all the information I don’t want to know…And it’s all the info I need to know, sadly.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes,” Kurt says, quietly. “Unfortunately, I do.”</p>
<p class="p1">Of course, he does.</p>
<p class="p1">“You know how bad HE is.” I try again.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt nods. “yes.”</p>
<p class="p1">“….but he’s alive?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…How is he? Is he….” I just motion helplessly.<br/>
<br/>
“I’ve not interacted with him in person, as per our agreement with the Inferno,” Kurt says. “You know if I’d seen him I’d have not left without him.”</p>
<p class="p1">I nod. “Are you on the retrieval team with me?”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt inhales deeply. “No.”<br/>
<br/>
That kinda sets off some… red flags.</p>
<p class="p1"><br/>
“Not because I do not wish to be.” Kurt says quickly, “I just… perhaps got too hated during my last interaction with the staff.”<br/>
<br/>
“….oh?”<br/>
<br/>
He nods. “I punched the Warden.”</p>
<p class="p1">I can feel my eyes widen. “You…-“<br/>
<br/>
“Twice.”</p>
<p class="p1">Okay…. Well…. That’s something he probably shouldn’t have done.</p>
<p class="p1">“If you can’t go with me but you’ve already been, you have to tell me what I’m walking into, alright? Please? I don’t want to go in blind.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Logan, please don’t do this to yourself.” Kurt sighs after a very long pause. “This won’t help you. If it won’t help you- it will hurt you. And if it hurts you, you can’t help him.”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt’s tone is steady- he means what he’s saying and I know he’s stubborn enough to back himself up.<br/>
<br/>
The one thing I got on my side? He can’t stand seeing me upset. I mean, sure. He puts up with a shit ton of drama outta me from time to time- but when it’s really bugging me- when the chips are really down? He can’t really hold his own there.</p>
<p class="p1">“You know what’s in the Inferno,” I say. “You know what’s happened to Daken recently. I haven’t talked to or of him for eight years.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…until yesterday, no one had.” Kurt reminds me.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea- yea, I know, I know,” I say quickly. “But you’ve still been where I haven’t. I need to know what I’m walking into so I don’t waste time. I want my boy home, Elf. I want him safe. I just want to tell him how sorry I am.”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt nods. “Yes, Logan, I understand.” He says sincerely. “But now is not the time to be comparing notes between what I have seen recently and what you believed to be there when you sent him. They will not match up. There has been too much time lapsed between them and you will just end up hurting far more deeply than you’re prepared for.” He pauses. “Please, love. I don’t want you to be any more hurt than you have to be.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt and I…We don’t talk about this. Not without a shit ton of booze. Maybe with the promise of a good fuck or two if I go to therapy- but it ain’t often.</p>
<p class="p1">“…and what if it is?”I ask stubbornly</p>
<p class="p1">“And what if what is?” He asks, seemingly confused.</p>
<p class="p1">“What if now is the ONLY time we have to compare notes? What as soon as I step through that portal, everything changes and I’ll never know just how badly I fucked up??”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt is completely still for a second.“There is nothing to compare, Logan. I swear to you. Not at this moment. It is too dangerous for you to go in crazed with knowledge you haven’t been given time to process.”</p>
<p class="p1">Okay. Time to pull the card. And I mean THE card.</p>
<p class="p1">“Kurt…. You know how much I love you, right? I love you so damn much. I love that you’re loyal- and I love that you’re strong. I love that you like to protect me…” I pause before pinching the bridge of my nose. “Baby, I don’t need protection right now. Daken does. To protect him- I need to hurt. I need to hurt because we both know that he can’t anymore. So I need to know what you know. I need to know what I’m walking into and how I’m going to walk into it. I need to know this so I can speed run it and get him home. You don’t want me to hurt. But… I gotta, babe. I gotta feel this.”</p>
<p class="p1">…I can see him stiffen.He really can’t stand when I’m this upset. really, I guess he can't stand when ANYONE is this upset- but me especially.</p>
<p class="p1">“I do understand your reasoning here, my love. I do. I just don’t think you need any more added stress at the current moment. You don’t need to know the ins and outs at this moment. Just go in, get him, and come home. Please.”</p>
<p class="p1">I don’t need protection right now. I fucked up. I want to know how badly I fucked up.</p>
<p class="p1">“Kurt, please. You gotta tell me- how bad is it?” I beg. “I know it’s bad- okay? I know on the surface level. But you’ve seen more. Stop trying to protect me from my own stupidity and tell me what I’m walking into!”</p>
<p class="p1">My voice has a crack that runs all the way through it. I won’t feel bad about that. I won’t feel less manly. I don’t give a flying fuck what I sound like.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt glances away from me- ever so quickly- unable to look me in the face and deliver such news. He doesn’t like to upset me- ever. “Well, Charles thinks-“</p>
<p class="p1">“I don’t want to know what Chuck thinks.” I cut him off. “I want to know what YOU think. I don’t trust anyone in that room as far as I can throw ‘em.”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Please don’t make me tell you this.” He asks. “Not right now. I can’t bear it. All you’re doing is torturing yourself. I can’t bear to see it.”</p>
<p class="p1">I get it. I do. But…</p>
<p class="p1">“Please, baby. I gotta know. I can’t go in blind and fumble around like an idiot. I trust you more than anyone on this fucking planet. Tell me.” I pause again. “I’ll take it easier if it’s coming from you.”</p>
<p class="p1">There’s the truth of it. Kurt won’t lie to me- not maliciously. He has nothing to gain from trying to protect anyone involved with this- myself included. </p>
<p class="p1">“Alright.” Kurt sighs. “If I Must.” There’s a small pause. I think he’s waiting for me to back out.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m ready for it,” I say, not confidently- but stubborn. I situate myself on the bench- head up, back strong. “Go.”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt nods, giving me one last second to back out. “Structurally, the building has three levels and is structured as a ring. They play off the Inferno title, as I’m sure you know. As such, it’s designed as a ring of hell.” He’s running this down with the cold detachment of some recon briefing. Just telling me what’s there and what to look out for- like a robot almost. “While it is large, and it is, the interior is designed to be unnervingly narrow and precariously maintained. The building functions around the center of the ring, as it were, that houses a large metal grate stretched sloppily over the main feature of the prison which is what is known affectionally as the ‘coals’. It’s a large pit perhaps ten feet deep at its deepest and it is ordered to be in use at all times. It is maintained by both staff and inmates. The precariousness of the task is overwhelmingly deadly, as are most inmate driven tasks. The grate is very thin and as such, can melt. It’s tortuously known to be subpar and it is quite normal for prisoners to fall in. They are not retrieved and as such are used as more fuel. The heat and energy that are generated from that pit are used to power various functions around the prison. They burn whatever they can to keep it going. Should it go out… the problem is corrected in what I’m lead to understand a very unsettling manner.”</p>
<p class="p1">Unsettling manner?</p>
<p class="p1">“Have you heard enough?” He asks.</p>
<p class="p1">I shake my head.</p>
<p class="p1">“Very well.” He sighs. “the constant heat of the coals heats not only the grate but also the entire bottom two floors- the floors, walls, and any object touched on the bottom levels are of course some sort of metal. The heat interacting with the metal causes severe burns that are never treated. Infections are quite common- almost rampant.Another side effect of the ever-burning is clouds of smoke, ash, and flicks of rusted metal never being allowed to filter out of the prison.Heat-related deaths are the most common occurrences and corpses are- again- thrown into the pit as no one comes to collect the dead for proper burial.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…they like burning stiffs, huh?” I try to make a shitty half-assed joke.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Is this information to your liking? Can you <em>please</em> allow me to stop torturing you now?”</p>
<p class="p1">I shake my head. “Please. Keep going.”</p>
<p class="p1">He exhales deeply. “The Inferno does house cells in which they keep their prisoners. The cells are small boxes- perhaps 10 feet all around- no latrine. No bed. They’re often held above some sort of additional heating mechanism- heat exhaustion and burns are most commonly experienced in the cells. The prisoners are not given water or food often- some aren’t even given any for their entire sentence, and when it is given it is often tainted. The inside of the circle houses two floors of various ‘punishments’ ranging from a variety of centuries-long since passed. This is due to the prisoner's unique age and unregulated status. The longest living inmate at the current date is Daken- due to his healing factor. The previous ‘champion’ made it three years. Should the infections, starvation, dehydration, and torture not cause it, there are often rapidly spreading lung diseases. The inside of the building is dark and red- frightening by all accounts. The torture is far from just physical. They aim to scare and terrify their prisoners into compliance. They’re quite good at it. “<br/>
<br/>
“You said there were three floors, right?” I ask.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt nods. “The top floor is the administration building and staff areas. Inmates are never allowed into this area because they are never released. On special occasions, however, they are brought up to an OR wing on this level for organ removal or what have you. It’s still hardly any sort of escape from them. The inmates do not run because they can’t. The staff has very few problems.” Kurt stops his horrible list of nightmares and looks at me dead in the eyes.“Now tell me…Did any of this help?”</p>
<p class="p1">Really?</p>
<p class="p1">“Sorta.” I nod.</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt looks at me for a long moment before shaking his head. “No, it didn’t.”</p>
<p class="p1">I have to concede to his superior facial reading abilities. “You’re right.” I hiss. “It didn’t.”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt looks at me with that “No bullshit” Look he has. “If you still want my opinion, I personally think it is a very dismal situation and a very slim chance at a positive outcome. I think we’ve hurt him very badly and he may not be willing to accept any form of help we try to offer him. The odds are stacked against us and to be quite frank, it is us who’s stacked them. ”</p>
<p class="p1">I inhale deeply- choking up more than I’d like to admit. He’s in hell. My boy is in hell. He’s in hell because we wouldn’t even attempt to think of anything else to do with him.</p>
<p class="p1">“I fucked up.” I cover my mouth with my hand- keeping in this building scream.</p>
<p class="p1">“No, love. <em>We</em> fucked up. This isn’t your burden to carry alone.” Kurt says this gently. “All you can do is go get him. Bring him home. We’ll figure out what to do from there… perhaps when the wounds are a little less fresh?”</p>
<p class="p1">I have to admit- Kurt’s still working that ‘keep Logan from going off the deep end’ magic of his. Even now. “What do I even say to him?”</p>
<p class="p1">“You say…whatever needs to be said,” Kurt says simply.</p>
<p class="p1">“How do I know what needs to be said?”</p>
<p class="p1">“You don’t,” Kurt repeats. “And to be fair, dear, there is no one ‘right’ thing say. This isn’t something you could have planned for. This isn’t something that you have a set reaction to. And to be completely honest, if you did, you would not be the man I love.”</p>
<p class="p1">I close my eyes briefly, just taking in his words. “I don’t know what to do,” I repeat. “What to say… I just want to … I don’t know… hold him? Promise him it’s going to be okay?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Then do that.” Kurt encourages. “Just….. don’t take it too hard if he does not accept your apology or your assistance. I imagine he is very frightened at the moment. He has no footing in our world at this moment.”<br/>
<br/>
Right. No footing.</p>
<p class="p1">“Do you really think he won’t want me there?” I ask. “I did send him away… I was the last person he saw.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You should go to him, regardless,” Kurt says gently. “When you see him, you’ll know what to do. I know you will.”</p>
<p class="p1">He’s got a hell of a lotta faith in me. I don’t deserve that- I never have.</p>
<p class="p1">“… and if I don’t?”</p>
<p class="p1">“You will.” He repeats.</p>
<p class="p1">“How can you be so sure?” I ask, looking at his concerned and knowing expression.“I’m the one who let them put him in that hell hole, to begin with.”</p>
<p class="p1">Kurt takes one of those long inhales. “You and everyone around you.” He says. “You’re a wonderful father, Logan. I know you will do what is right.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. “Go now. He needs you. I’ll tell the girls where you’ve gone and what’s happening and we’ll be waiting for the two of you to return.”</p>
<p class="p1">I nod, feeling just slightly better. I lean up and kiss him before he can pull away- just slightly. “Take care of 'em,” I say, pulling away. “Let 'em know that…” That I don’t plan to come home if he’s not with me. That I won’t let him suffer alone. That I’d rather kill everyone in that fucking building if it meant keeping him safe.</p>
<p class="p1">“Let them know that you love them and will see them soon, ja?” He presses.</p>
<p class="p1">I nod, feeling strong yet… so so weak. “Yea. That’s it.”</p>
<p class="p1">He straightens back up and steps away. “Go, love. Bring him home. He needs you.”</p>
<p class="p1">Bring him home. Right. Gonna bring him home. Safe and sound. Just like any other father would.</p>
<p class="p1">As Kurt moves back down the hallway and heads back to our home to get the girls, I shakily stand to my feet. Love the Elf, I do. But I can’t help feeling as if the further he moves from me- the hope he tried to give me moves with him.</p>
<p class="p1">Weakly- weaker than I’ve ever felt- I move back to the portal room we use for this kind of official shit. Unlike the others, this one’s mobile. It goes where we need it. Chuck, Frost, and Summers are standing by it- each of them giving me the same look of pity. Like they think I’m the one who’s hurting here- not the one who did the hurting.</p>
<p class="p1">“You can all take your pity and shove it up your asses,” I growl. “I ain’t the victim here.”</p>
<p class="p1">Chuck is the closest to me. He reaches out and pats my shoulder. “We know, Logan. We know.” He says. “We just wish this were going to be easier on you, is all.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s not your fault,” Summers says, voice softer than he usually uses. “You didn’t know.”</p>
<p class="p1">“We didn’t know,” Emma adds, turning back to me. “And I’m so sorry we didn’t.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It will get easier with time, I am sure,” Chuck says. “Are we ready?”</p>
<p class="p1">Emma nods. “I suppose we’ll be met and given the proper attire to enter?”</p>
<p class="p1">“One would assume,” Chuck says.<br/>
<br/>
Emma seems to be weighing some options out before she decided to carefully remove her cape- setting it on a table off to the side. “What?” She glances up at us in annoyance. “It’s silk. Do you have any idea of how hard that will be to clean??”</p>
<p class="p1">Well….</p>
<p class="p1">“Whatever makes this easier, Emma.” Chuck agrees.</p>
<p class="p1">“Easier. Right.” I scoff, motioning to the portal. “You gonna turn this thing on or are we just gonna stand here and watch Frost get naked?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Watch it, Logan,” Scott growls.</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, hush, love.” Emma quiets our visor enabled leader with a hand. “He’s got a right to be surly, wouldn’t you say? I take no offense.”</p>
<p class="p1">No offense my ass.</p>
<p class="p1">“Charles, we really should get moving, though,” Emma says. “We’ve medical on standby. We’ll need to get Daken checked over as soon as humanly possible.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Agreed.” Chucks nods as he presses his hand to the wooden ring that stretches from the floor to two inches from the large ceiling. This room is meant for moving shit- big and small. As he touches it, the portal comes to life- large, blue and purple, and rippling in a swirling pattern that stretches the entire ring’s length.</p>
<p class="p1">“So that’s it, huh?” I feel my voice small in my throat.</p>
<p class="p1">“That’s it.” I hear Emma reply, her voice small as well.</p>
<p class="p1">Standing here,I can barely see the outline of the large circular building Kurt warned me of…. And it looks terrifying. Not just terrifying- it looks HUGE. Bigger than what Kurt said. Bigger than any picture I’ve ever SEEN or any account I’ve ever read. This place… well, there ain’t a lot of places I’d flat out call ‘evil’ before entering it- but I’m gonna go ahead and fork over the title.</p>
<p class="p1">I’m the first to walk through the portal- feeling a small zap as I pass.I’m standing in our new location- on the Inferno’s lawn- and feeling something… I don’t know how to describe it.<br/>
There are no fences. There are no gates. There’s some heavily guarded shit that leads to a very large set of singular doors- but that’s it. The exterior of the Inferno is a mash-up between castle-like dreariness and Hollywood-like torture dungeon metal. It is in the large circle Kurt spoke of- all the way around. Rings on rings. No windows except the top floor. The lawn I’m standing on is a field comprised of completely dead grass. Grass that’s been left out here unkempt for years- it looks like.</p>
<p class="p1">From the front lawn- I guess- I can hear the slight sound of screams. I don’t know who’s. Maybe Daken’s? Maybe someone else’s? Doesn’t matter. From right here- outside this monstrosity of a building- I can hear them. </p>
<p class="p1">As I take another small step towards The Inferno, it’s not just screams I hear. Its scorched flesh in the air. Blood. Disease. Infection.I can smell the burning metal and roaring unkempt fire. I can smell smoke and ash- so heavy, even from here. A feature I don’t think Kurt mentioned is that the building is topped with what looks like a large glass dome- I can see the smoke curling upwards into it from here and then cascading back down unto whatever unlucky saps are below it.</p>
<p class="p1">…Guess that’s how they keep the lungs working overtime, huh?</p>
<p class="p1">Outside where I’m standing, away from all of that- I note that there is no parking lot. No cars in front of the building to be seen. Just a sidewalk that leads off to the left and down a trail where the grass starts becoming green and there’s a good bit of foliage. Looking from this fuckhole to the path is like seeing two completely separate images smashed into one.</p>
<p class="p1">I can see some tire tracks from some sort of vehicle- a golf cart, maybe? So I know there’s some sort of way to get to and fro. That path leads to the staff housing- I think I read that. That they stay on the premises for extremely long stretches of time. I know from a passing comment that the staff housing is ‘on- off-site’. Keeps em distant.</p>
<p class="p1">…Would make sense that they get to see something pretty when they’re off the clock. Can’t imagine doing what they do leads to necessarily good mental health.</p>
<p class="p1">Even the smaller bits of humanity I’m seeing- the grass the signs of life- do nothing to help me.<br/>
Because underneath it…. I can still hear screams. I can still smell flames. I still see smoke.</p>
<p class="p1">…and I see his eyes. Over and over and over.</p>
<p class="p1">How am I ever going to face him?</p>
<p class="p1">I guess there’s only one way to find out…. Ain’t there?<br/>
<br/>
I take a step. And then another. And then one more. We start to move towards the only entrance we seem to be offered.</p>
<p class="p1">As we move closer, I can’t help but feel as if the three stories of the Inferno is just a little overkill. I know for a fact that they never keep more than 10 prisoners- not something Kurt mentioned, but something I’ve read on my own. Everything I’m seeing seems to be just what Kurt warned me about but… somehow worse.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s larger than I thought it’d be. Why does it need to be this large? Kurt said they don’t keep prisoners for long- due to dying. So why use all this space?</p>
<p class="p1">…I feel sick to my stomach when I remember that I know just what all that space is for.</p>
<p class="p1">Coming here didn’t make me stupid- I know. I sent him here. I’ve at least read about it. Chuck and Emma join me, standing still and silent.</p>
<p class="p1">Emma breaks that silence with a “Jesus Christ, I can hear the mental distress from here.” She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. “It’s so strong.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes… I was noting that as well.” Chuck says. Great. Just what I wanted to hear. “Most definitely not a place we should be staying any longer than we have to.”</p>
<p class="p1">Good to know.<br/>
<br/>
I turn around and wait for our fourth- but don’t see him.</p>
<p class="p1">“The fuck is Summers?” I ask, confused.</p>
<p class="p1">“Scott’s not coming,” Chuck says. “For his own mental safety, I’ve asked him to stay behind.”</p>
<p class="p1">Wish I could have stayed behind too.</p>
<p class="p1">“Perhaps it will move faster this way,” Chuck says.</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, yeah?”<br/>
<br/>
Emma glances at me with a very well known ‘don’t be stupid’ look. “You and he attack each other when you are upset. We are trying to make this as easy on you as possible.”</p>
<p class="p1">Oh…</p>
<p class="p1">“You’re welcome.” She huffs, moving past me- but not getting very far before she also stops moving. “Just look at it,” Emma says, almost in a whisper as she turns back to Chuck. “Charles…Have you ever felt anything this horribly sinister before?</p>
<p class="p1">“No,” Chuck says, sincerely at that. “And I never want to again. Let’s move quickly.”</p>
<p class="p1">As I move closer to the building all I can register is feeling dwarfed by its size. Little and helpless, almost. Helpless ain't something I feel often... so that’s a fucking feat.</p>
<p class="p1">…I’m not a telepath. I don’t know what my companions are feeling… but listening to heartbeats and breathing- I can tell it ain’t good.</p>
<p class="p1">We make it mostly up to the door of the prison- which is again, the only entrance we see- before we’re met with even the sight of another person.<br/>
<br/>
Four, to be exact.<br/>
<br/>
They call out for us to halt- voices small in the distance.<br/>
<br/>
I jerk to a stop. “They want us to stop moving.”</p>
<p class="p1"><br/>
Emma and Chuck follow.</p>
<p class="p1">It’s pretty easy to see as they approach that these are most definitely employees. The four-person group is coated from head to toe in heavy-duty hazmat. Complete with oversized boots, gloves, and noisy (very noisy) filtering systems in their masks.</p>
<p class="p1">In their arms, I can see that they’re bringing three more bundles of blue fuckoff suiting with them. Nice of them to think of us- right?</p>
<p class="p1">As they finish drawing near, all I can smell on them is the scent of sterile labs and bleached fabrics…. Cleanly bunch they seem to be.</p>
<p class="p1">Two of them take the front of the group and two follow behind. They’re all relatively the same sign and the uniforms don’t really denote who’s in charge of who. Could be possible that they just sent us the welcome wagon and plan on taking us to the big dogs once we’re inside.</p>
<p class="p1">The group comes to a stop in front of us. “Names?”</p>
<p class="p1">We look at each other as if they’re joking.<br/>
<br/>
“Names?” The person in front is a man. His voice is firm and it sounds like he’s used to be listened to. he’s not the tallest, but he projects himself well.</p>
<p class="p1">“Charles Xavier, Emma Frost, and Logan Howlett,” Emma says. “I believe we’ve just called?”</p>
<p class="p1">“That you have.” The man nods. “Sorry for the delay. Welcome to the Inferno.” He motions to his buddies and gathers up the bundles of suits from them. “These are for you. You’ll need to put them on before we can continue into the building. It is literally a deathtrap.”</p>
<p class="p1">Emma and Chuck take theirs easily- Emma only hesitating slightly to feel the material between her fingers.<br/>
<br/>
“Interesting.” She murmurs, stepping into it one foot at a time and pulling the loose blue material up to her waist.</p>
<p class="p1">I watch them suit up, curiously. “What are they?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Cooling hazmat’s we’ve had the time to scramble together.” The man says. “Basically all it comes down to are masks and cooling systems. Air filtration and temperature monitoring are our top concerns during the day. We try our best to keep the tech up to date. Our employee’s health is obviously our highest priority.”</p>
<p class="p1">Yea. It looks like.</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t want any of the wrong people getting hurt.” He says with a nod. “So if you’ll just put these suits on right here- we will be able to make sure that you’re safe as you move about the facility. Safety precautions aside, I gotta warn you, people still feel quite ill when they leave. Wearing the suit will keep you from getting suffocated or burnt- but taking it off can be a bit nauseating. It’s best to know now if you have any breathing-related issues such as asthma or any kind of lung disease. If you have any underlying health conditions,I am going to have to strongly suggest that you opt-out of our little tour. The distress may be too much on first-timers and we don’t want anyone here to get hurt.”</p>
<p class="p1">Ah. Sweet of him. Seems like the whole ‘torture crazy assholes’ have a heart after all.</p>
<p class="p1">“We appreciate your warning,” Emma says pulling the rest of the suit up her was it and tits and zipping it all the way to her neck. She quickly takes a black elastic hair tie from her wrists and ties her hair in a messy bun and picks up the helmet part of the suit, inspecting it. “But we’ll be fine.”</p>
<p class="p1">Chuck slides into his suit as well, not saying much but still seeming to be a pretty dominating figure of this scene. He’s in charge and everyone knows it. Even the humans.</p>
<p class="p1">“I gather that these are cleaned properly, then?” He asks. “no diseases we could possibly bring back to Krakoa with us?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Ain’t nothing in that prison you can catch, Sir.” The man says. “You have my word.”</p>
<p class="p1">‘Sir’.<br/>
<br/>
“Thank you.” Chuck nods.</p>
<p class="p1">“Here.” The man offers the last blue suit to me- but I decline.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m fine.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Are you sure?” He asks unsurely. “It’s …. Not so nice in there. Without protection, I promise you that you will be GRAVELY injured.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ll be fine,” I press. “I’m not gonna be there long.”</p>
<p class="p1">If he has to deal with it? So do I. That’s how things are gonna work now. I’m never gonna let him go through this shit alone ever again.</p>
<p class="p1">“Logan, don’t be difficult.” Chuck sighs, his voice filtering through the mask.</p>
<p class="p1">“I ain’t,” I scoff. “If he has to deal with this- I will too.”</p>
<p class="p1">“This isn’t a pissing constant, Logan.” Emma sighs. “Just wear the suit so we don’t have to carry your foolish self out.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m fine,” I repeat. “I’m not gonna dress in some fucking science project. I’m fine.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Just wear the damn suit.” Chuck hisses through my mind.“Honestly. Please don’t make a scene. ”</p>
<p class="p1">I glare at him. “I don’t want a suit because I don’t plan on staying long- alright? I just want to get him and get out. The more ‘distress’ I’m in the better. It’ll make me sharper and faster.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It’ll make you pass out from heat exhaustion five seconds in the door.” The man in front of us says. “Please. Take the suit. I understand your need to hurry- I’m not gonna slow you down…. At least not like a fucking heat stroke will, at any rate.”</p>
<p class="p1">“No,” I argue. “No. If he has to sit through this- I will too.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Logan…. please, we’re just wasting time.” Emma says.</p>
<p class="p1">Our guide looks to his three other silent companions who shrug. He holds his hands up. “Fine. You say you’re fine- you’re fine. I gave you the warning though- we all heard it. So if something happens, you won’t be able to sue us- got it?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea. I got it.”</p>
<p class="p1">Loud and clear. I just wanna go.</p>
<p class="p1">“We’re not paying for medical bills down the road, either.” He says. “You were warned.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I understand,” I say firmly.</p>
<p class="p1">I do gotta give the man credit, though. He does seem to care about my safety.<br/>
…I mean there’s no warm fuzzy feeling knowing that the’s one of the assholes who’s been</p>
<p class="p1">torturing my kid but…</p>
<p class="p1">“You know Logan, while the bulkiness is lost on my lovely frame it will do wonders for yours.” Emma chuckles across the static filtration.“You should try it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea, I’m still gonna pass. Good try though.” I say. I turn back to our guide. “You and your buddies gonna take me to my kid now?”</p>
<p class="p1">One of the hazmat men behind him steps up. “That would be me.” He says, holding his hand out. “Isiah Green.” He introduces himself. “Head of security. I’ll be leading y’all through our facility. ”</p>
<p class="p1">I just glare at the offered hand- kinda offended. He wants me to touch him? Nah. “Good for you. Where's my son?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Tough crowd.” He mutters as he rescinds the hand. “Inmate is inside in triage. We’re treating his … um-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Burns.” Chuck supplies. “There’s no need to mince your words. We are all aware of just what this place is.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea. Burns. He took a little tumble this morning.” He nods. “Might take a bit to get him road-ready.” He turns back to me and just shakes his head. “Look man, you really should suit up. It may take longer than you think- he’s pretty banged up.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Not gonna happen,” I growl. “Take me to my kid.”</p>
<p class="p1">The man turns back to his friends, who in turn shrug. “He doesn’t want the suit. We can’t make him wear it.” The third person to speak is another man. “Let’s move it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea but-“</p>
<p class="p1">“Look… Isiah was it?”</p>
<p class="p1">He nods.</p>
<p class="p1">“Okay look- you’ve been working on my kid for eight years here, right?”</p>
<p class="p1">He nods again.<br/>
<br/>
“The same thing that keeps him alive keeps me alive. If he can last for eight fucking years sans suit, I can make it an hour or two. Let’s just get going so I can get my kid.” I can’t see his face because of the heavy mask but…. I feel like I’m making headway. “I’ll be fine- I just want to see my boy.” I let some of my anger dip into that more pained area of anger than rage. “Please.”</p>
<p class="p1">Looking back to one of the men behind us, he waits for a nod.</p>
<p class="p1">“Alright. We can do that if that’s how you want to do it.” Isiah says, before clearing his throat. “We have some minor things to address before entering. Please listen up and we can move quickly. What you’re gonna need to do as soon as we enter the building is to keep on the white path on the floor and <em>only </em>the white path. Do not deviate. Steam, ash, and heat exhaust are constantly going off at random- it can hurt like a bitch if it hits you, even with the suits. These masks are electronic- they filter out every toxin you encounter but talking will be hard when they are filtering. You have earpieces built into your helmets- but again, it’s hard to hear them. So please be trying to listen for instruction. If at any point you get lost or separated from our group- you are to stay where you are and hit the red square button on the right arm of your uniform there. You will be retrieved as quickly as humanly possible. You are to stay with the group. You will take no photos. You will bring no food or drink within the prison walls. You are not to verbally interact with the prisoners. You are not to wander. You are not to touch any of our devices. You are not allowed in any non-staff area. You are to stay with at least two guards at all times.If you should start to feel dizzy, nauseous, light-headed, or experience any numbness or tingling in any of your extremities, inform me at once- again with that red button on your suit. Now, the other inmates do not know there has been a mix-up. We are not informing them- it’s not their job to know. However, with an influx of people, someone may figure out that something is up. It is important that you do NOT interact with anyone outside of a suit. It is important that you DO NOT touch anything unless specifically given permission. Again- you are NOT to interact with anyone NOT in a suit.” He pauses. “Besides your buddy here, I guess.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Is that it?” I ask.</p>
<p class="p1">Not that his list wasn’t… god- long. And terrifying.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea.” He nods. “That’s it. If I think of anything else, I’ll let y’all know. Now follow me, please. Keep up.”</p>
<p class="p1">The four guides, (only three having spoken which is weird as fuck to me) lead us up to the building. The doors are heavy and iron- locked in fifty million spots. It takes three handprint scanners, one visual prompt, five fingerprints alone, and two passwords to open the door. It’s something to behold- that’s for sure.</p>
<p class="p1">There’s a long pause with them trying to get the door open.</p>
<p class="p1">“…just a had a kid myself.” I hear Isiah say beside me. “So… yea…I Uh-“</p>
<p class="p1">I turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “Yea?”</p>
<p class="p1">He nods. “Just…. Uh… yea. Thought I should tell you… we…”<br/>
<br/>
He doesn’t finish- the door opens with a loud beep and he just shakes his head and takes point again.</p>
<p class="p1">“Take a deep breath, everyone.” One of the other men says. “And please allow yourself to adjust to the poor lighting before you start walking.”</p>
<p class="p1">As soon as we get past the door the very world before us morphs into something out of a horror movie. No- something even WORSE. No one who’s not standing here at this very moment could do it even partial justice. I mean- it actually steals my breath away- both metaphorically and physically.</p>
<p class="p1">“You good?” One of the men asks- I don’t keep track of who.</p>
<p class="p1">I nod, just staring at this horror show in front of me. Every single inch I see is red and glowing angry metal. Steam is everywhere- hot on my skin, causing sweat and even slight burns. Not to mention the smoke and ash that are choking me.</p>
<p class="p1">I can almost feel myself faint on the spot- but I fight it.</p>
<p class="p1">"You sure you don’t want that mask?” Comes a robotic voice from behind me- everyone else has turned their filters on. “We can take you right outside- won’t take but a minute.”</p>
<p class="p1">Now? Now it’s a point of pride. I ain’t backing down. “I’m good!” I call, a little louder than I should because of their helmets. “ Just move it!” I cough into my hand- blood and ash coating it “Quickly.” I wheeze.</p>
<p class="p1">“Jesus Christ.” Is a faint robot voice from behind me. “We need to take the stairs.”</p>
<p class="p1">This is the person who hasn’t spoken yet. Hard to place their voice in the smog and red hot burning metal.</p>
<p class="p1"><br/>
“Seriously- this guy’s coughing blood!”</p>
<p class="p1">The other three look between each other and then motion for Chuck, Emma, and I to quickly follow.</p>
<p class="p1">I bring up the rear- knowing that even though I put this on myself by not wearing the damn suit, I owe it to Daken to try and take in as much of this as I can so I can help him sort it out later.</p>
<p class="p1">I follow behind our guides, quickly though. Not really taking too much time to shuffle my feet or sniff about- just letting the man in front of me lead me past the heavy iron doors and into the smoke-filled halls.</p>
<p class="p1">I cough up more blood as we go. Pieces of lung too- it seems. How the fuck has my boy been standing this???</p>
<p class="p1">We file into the hallways in what feels like almost a panicked hurry- every step underfoot kicking up waves of heat and ash. The floor glows red around the thin white line that runs down the very middle and steam randomly shoots out in dangerous and randomized spouts. At points, I swear that pipes are purposefully burst in a way that makes the steam somehow hotter. I get startled and end up burning my hand all the way to the adamantium. I’m not able to keep quiet about that.<br/>
<br/>
“Holy fuck, dude.” I hear who I think is Isiah again. “The fuck is on your hands???”</p>
<p class="p1">I like being able to hear him decently as this distance- and I like that he seems…. I don’t know, real?<br/>
<br/>
So I flex the hand- showing him the skin healing over the metal.<br/>
<br/>
“Gross.” He nods, returning to his guide duties after he takes a pointed shove in the shoulder from the man behind him.</p>
<p class="p1">All I can really think of this place is that…it’s truly an inferno. It’s not a stupid nickname or a fear tactic- it’s a legitimate description. It looks like something out of a nightmare’s nightmare.</p>
<p class="p1">My woes don’t seem to be getting any easier as our journey progresses. The air has moments where it gets clearer- I guess as we move further away from the more active part of the ‘coals’? But the heat is never-ending. It’s so persistent that the bottom of my boots are sticking to the floor- melting as I move. I leave behind disgusting rubber footprints that just bubble and burn as we move away from them.This is not something our guide warned me about- but I doubt he has people just walking in like this. He probably didn’t think I’d be stupid enough to refuse the fucking suit. …and part of me is really wishing I hadn’t.</p>
<p class="p1">We come to a stop and are jerkily directed to a door that’s heavily locked and somewhat hidden. They have to pull out a big ring of large rubber-coated keys- I guess so they don’t melt- and open the door. It takes two of them just to do this.</p>
<p class="p1">As it turns out, the inside of that door is a stairwell- something for staff to pass through, it seems.<br/>
Don’t get me wrong- it’s still pretty smokey- but there’s not any glowing metal or actual ash. The floor is cement and it’s well lit- yellow arrows on the wall pointing up and the platforms neatly labeled.<br/>
<br/>
When we enter, I note that we’re on the second floor. Which is crazy because I don’t remember going up a floor. I entered at the bottom, though. Was I just not paying attention?</p>
<p class="p1">Regardless- I can’t say that I don’t feel slightly relieved to be somewhere other than a raging hell ring at the moment. I feel light-headed and sick as hell by the time I reach the second set of stairs- but it’s better than where we were, for sure.</p>
<p class="p1">The doors that we pass in the stairwell are large- heavy- and well lit. There are quite a few of them- meaning that this stairwell leads to multiple places other than ‘up’ and ‘down’. It seems to be part of some intricate tunnel-like system that the employees probably use to move around.The further up we get- the clearer the air gets- which is a fucking relief, let me tell you.</p>
<p class="p1">I can’t believe the kids spent eight years here. Eight fucking years. I can barely make it eight minutes in- and he’s been here for years on years.</p>
<p class="p1">I try to take a second to inhale some clean air as we move- but can’t really focus on the sweet relief of it. I mean- my lungs are repairing themselves. My gut is calming. I don’t think I’m gonna keel over any time soon.</p>
<p class="p1">But…In the air, I hear screaming. The same screaming I heard out on the lawn- just louder. Now I hear it below us and I hear it above us. I hear it through vents. I hear it through doors.</p>
<p class="p1">How do they ever get used to this? I’m a tough old bastard but fuck- this has crossed so many lines for me.</p>
<p class="p1">The Inferno…this place is filled with ghosts and pain. And I'm starting to wonder how many of those ghosts may not have been as ‘guilty’ as they thought they were. I keeping finding myself listening because I feel… compelled to. Each step I take up these stairs leads me to the source0 the one I’m zoning in on. Each painful inhale leads me to a clearer head with which to try and identify it. Each pained step of my barefoot dragging through the melted sole of my foot brings me the clarity to try and decipher just what I should say.</p>
<p class="p1">Because it doesn’t take a super sleuth to know who’s scream we’re heading towards.<br/>
I don’t need to activate my super daddy instincts. (Gabby called them that once- it was cute)I know it’s him. I feel it in every cell in my body.</p>
<p class="p1">No one says a word- not to me and not to each other. I don’t think they know how to. Fuck right now, I don’t even think I know how to.</p>
<p class="p1">I can feel the heaviness between Chuck and Emma though- almost as if it were physical</p>
<p class="p1">‘it may as well be.’ Emma whispers through my mind.</p>
<p class="p1">I don’t hear her down and out very much- but fuck, she’s spooked.</p>
<p class="p1">‘I’m not…’ She hisses cooly- like winter in my mind. ‘i’m just… I'm sorry Logan. I’m very sorry.’</p>
<p class="p1">The humans and Chuck (I think) stay out of Emma and my’s conversation.</p>
<p class="p1">I kinda start to think (again) that taking two telepaths into a literal torture chamber may have been a tall order.</p>
<p class="p1">I… get the urge to apologize. Maybe I’ll send them some sort of thank you card or bullshit.</p>
<p class="p1">The further up we go- the louder the screaming becomes. Louder….and louder….. and louder. Daken… god he’s hurting right now.<br/>
<br/>
“I told them to gas him.” One of the guards growls- voice clear now that there’s no smoke to filter. “We should not be hearing him this far down.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…Maybe Chels had some issues?” Isiah offers.</p>
<p class="p1">“Maybe Chels had some attitude.” The third man scoffs. “Sir, you want me to go ahead and see if I can’t get things… calmed?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sure.” ‘Sir’ says. “And tell Chels that I’m gonna want a word with her, won’t you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“…bet she’ll love that.” Isiah hisses.</p>
<p class="p1">It feels weird that the higher up we go, the more human things get. Not just the air or the conditions- but the employees too. They don’t seem like torture happy monsters here. Just employees doing day to day things.</p>
<p class="p1">…I don’t know how to feel about that.</p>
<p class="p1">The stairway's final platform holds only one door- besides the door is a red ‘admin’ written on the wall. Beside that is a sign reminding employees about proper gear storing procedures.</p>
<p class="p1">When we push the door open, we’re let into an open and spacious lobby. As in like a doctor’s office like lobby. Chairs and couches. Shit like that. Bright lights. Art on the wall. Windows? It’s so fucking different from what’s downstairs that I feel like we’re being punked.</p>
<p class="p1">This place… fuck. It’s so… <em>normal</em>. There’s a staff ‘rest’ room- as in one with beds and cots for actual resting, a vending machine, a few nice TVs, some couches against a cement wall- fuck, they have their clock in computer out here.</p>
<p class="p1">To the side of the room is a smaller room with a small kitchen. And then to the other side- nearest the wall, there’s a large row of hooks and cords for hanging gear.</p>
<p class="p1">…these assholes come up here for their breaks and everything from the bottom floors ceases to mean a damn thing.</p>
<p class="p1">I swear that somethings fucking wrong here. Something that’s a trick. A spell, maybe?<br/>
<br/>
“The fuck…?” I find myself whispering.</p>
<p class="p1">“Staff needs a break too, you know. This job ain’t exactly ‘easy’. ” Isiah mumbles as he pushes past me.</p>
<p class="p1">I’d continue to claim suspicion of being punked… if it weren’t for the screams still sounding off- louder than ever. They let me know that it’s all too real.</p>
<p class="p1">“Over here, please,” Isiah calls, leading us down a side hallway away from the nice staff area. This hallway goes from the pleasant tiles of the staff area to a gray and stained cement like we found in the stairwell.<br/>
<br/>
Still- no smoke, no ash, no steam.</p>
<p class="p1">The walls have no doors or windows here. I do see a Shute that I can almost guarantee is used for body disposal, though.</p>
<p class="p1">The closer we move to the end of the hallway- the louder the screaming gets. The more real it gets. It is just… god, the screaming is SO LOUD here. SO loud.</p>
<p class="p1">Our guides stop in front of the only door in this wing- carefully starting to remove their uniforms and delicately having them on the provided hooks that run down the entire wall of the hallway.</p>
<p class="p1">“You won’t need this from here.” The one called ‘Sir’ says as he slips out and revealing a grey jumpsuit and an impressive set of dog tags. “Gimme a second here.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You two should strip down,” Isiah says, removing his mask. “You don’t need ‘em here.” He turns out to be a young guy- kinda small, really. I mean, I’m one to talk, right? He’s got dark skin, buzzcut hair, and a large ass scar running down the left side of his face. Scar goes well with his missing eye. “The masks are unsettling-“</p>
<p class="p1">“They’re not ‘unsettling’.” The last guide who unmasks- and speaks finally- is a woman. I know I heard her speak- but fuck, I couldn’t tell she was… ya know, a her over the mask. I gotta say- she’s pretty. And that’s shocking because I did not think that there could be anything pretty here. I ain’t trying to be sexist… but fuck. It was just… unexpected. She makes enough fuss taking her helmet off that the other two go quiet. “They scare the ever-loving fuck out of him.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t do this.” The man behind Isiah says. “Come on- not now. We don’t have the fucking time.”</p>
<p class="p1">She glares at Isiah, almost as if she’s DARING him to interrupt her. “They always have- right, Green? He’s terrified of the masks.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea. That’s what I said. They’re pretty scary.” The man says, cooly. “Now pick your helmet up and hang it on the hook. You know protocol.”</p>
<p class="p1">The woman’s got her long blonde hair braided in a single plait that reaches to the small of her back. She’s sweating pretty profusely and has strands of hair stuck to her forehead. “Yea. They are pretty scary. Especially to him- right? You wanna tell them why that is, Green? Huh? You wanna tell them how NICE you are?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Can we not right now, Sloan? This ain’t the time.” Isiah groans. “We’re all tired. Let’s just… get it over with. Get him home. I think he deserves that, don’t you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“But if you don’t tell them now… then when? I heard you being all 'buddy-buddy' up to Wolverine there- why don’t you tell JUST what you’ve done??” The woman snarls. “I just wanna make sure that they know EXACTLY what you did.”</p>
<p class="p1">Wow. This is some deep tension right here.</p>
<p class="p1">“Look-“</p>
<p class="p1">“How about what you did, huh?” Isiah yells, getting in her face. “Tell them what YOU did! Because this AIN’T Just on me- no ma'am! You wanna spill the beans- THEN SPILL EM ALL. TELL THEM WHAT YOU DID!!!”</p>
<p class="p1"><br/>
“Green! Sloan! Knock it off!” The other guard yells.</p>
<p class="p1">“I didn’t do shit!” The woman shouts over him, glaring daggers at her intended target, fists balled at her side “You know I called this shit THREE YEARS AGO!!! I called it! YOU FUCKWADS wouldn’t listen. And now???” Another scream rips through the air. She violently points upward as if we can see it. “Gonna be hearing that for fucking years to come!” She snarls. “And it’s all because you wouldn’t fucking listen to me!!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh yeah??? Well, forgive me for not trusting you when it comes to being fucking soft!!! It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gotten swayed by a pair of pretty eyes, now would it?”</p>
<p class="p1">She spins on her heel, slamming a hand into his chest. “The fuck does that mean??”</p>
<p class="p1">“YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS!!!”</p>
<p class="p1">“ALRIGHT ENOUGH!” The third guide (Sir)as so happens is actually the Warden. I didn’t put it together until just now as he’s standing in front of a picture of himself. “I’mma say it once, and I'm only saying it once,” He growls, voice is loud and commanding. “Take a walk. BOTH OF YOU. Then I want you to report to your stations. AWAY from each other. GOT IT?”</p>
<p class="p1">Warden’s got the kinda voice you don’t want to fuck around with- and a beard that seems to look somehow vaguely Viking-ish.I mean, it’s not like insanely unprofessional or anything- it’s just…. Well, it’s not expected. Like his pretty guard lady.</p>
<p class="p1">The two employees break apart angrily-their beef obviously being far from over. “God damn these recruits.” He hisses. “Hot-headed and spoiled. That’s what they are.”</p>
<p class="p1">I just kinda stare at him waiting for an explanation- because FUCK was that a lot.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m very sorry bout that.” He says, clearing his throat and moving past me to the door. “This mess has made everyone a bit punchy. You’ll have to bear with my employees. Finding out you’ve been torturing an innocent person like we do is…hard. No one’s had a lotta sleep around here over the last few days. Makes a person cranky.”</p>
<p class="p1">“yes, I’d imagine you’re experiencing a small fraction of the amount of pain your innocent victim feels. It must be very hard.” Chuck is pissed. One, we were lied to. That looks bad on us. Two, we were tricked into gravely hurting a mutant. Three? it’s unprofessional on our part and now the Inferno has proven to be unprofessional on theirs. This makes him even madder because Chuck does not handle unprofessionalism lightly.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Let’s get this fixed.” The Warden says as he places his hand on a sensor that’s built into the side of the wall. “The screaming is loud as hell. I told them to make him stop- I don’t know why they didn’t.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That’s where Daken is?”I ask, nodding.</p>
<p class="p1">The man looks at me and nods. “Yes. This is where the inmate is.”</p>
<p class="p1">Inmate. He doesn’t have a name here.</p>
<p class="p1">“He’s innocent- you know.” Emma grouses. “He has a name- you could try to use it.”</p>
<p class="p1">I’m surprised to hear Emma say this before I can.</p>
<p class="p1">“He can use his name when he leaves. You’re gonna have to excuse me- I gotta put some distance him and I. I’m not ready to use a name yet.” The Warden nods to us.“Now get ready. If today’s like every other day- He’s loud.”</p>
<p class="p1">Loud. My kid screaming is loud. It’s so loud that we need to be given a warning.</p>
<p class="p1">The door opens and lets us enter into what looks like a medical set up. Sterile scents and bright lights bouncing off of metal trays are the first thing that comes to mind. The second, however, is the blood. Tons of it. Buckets even. There are a few surgeons gathered around the table- their green booties they wear over their actual shoes are soaked in crimson. They wear simple face coverings- like any other surgeon would, I guess. After hearing the argument over Daken possibly being frightened by masks, I guess that’s a bit of mercy they’ve given him. At least he can see their eyes. Now I know I’ve never been in his shoes- but I have been with some pretty nasty weapon x docs once upon a time.I know that sometimes it’s just slightly helpful to see their eyes. Let’s you know they’re human. Your brain can come up with some twisted shit when you’re in pain like that. It’s nice to be reminded of the simple things.</p>
<p class="p1">The sound of his screams is both deafening …. And completely static.<br/>
I hear it- oh god I hear it. And I see him. I see the pain- and I see the fear. I see the large straps that have been hooked through his flesh- holding him still utilizing pain and punishment should he jerk.I see his skin all charcoal and blood-soaked.</p>
<p class="p1">…I can’t see his eyes.<br/>
I was worried about seeing his eyes…. But I can’t see them. Maybe he’s got them closed? I can see him- but he can’t see me.</p>
<p class="p1">….and I want him to. I want him to know I’m here. I want him to know the I came back.</p>
<p class="p1">…I want to know- right now- if he’s aware of what's happened. Of what’s going on.<br/>
of that fact that no matter what they do on that table- it’s over.</p>
<p class="p1">Daken’s laid out on his back- the entire left side of his body is burnt- completely black. I can see bones in places- which, as shitty as it is, is good. It means he’s healing.</p>
<p class="p1">…it’s just gonna hurt like hell.</p>
<p class="p1">His skin is flaking and peeling off in long strips- bloody ones, at that. Looks like someone’s cut him up pretty good too. He twitches slightly- raising a little and showing completely straight lines of deep and ugly burns running down his back.</p>
<p class="p1"><br/>
“…he fell in,” I say- kinda surprised that no one responds.</p>
<p class="p1">“…yes.” The Warden says.</p>
<p class="p1">“…you didn’t pull him out?”</p>
<p class="p1">The man looks me over for a second and says, “We let him pull himself out. If he didn’t want to live- he’d still be there. Just wanted to makes sure he had the drive.”</p>
<p class="p1">That’s fucked and sick… and I let my glare tell him that.</p>
<p class="p1">“I told you.” The Warden says, “We couldn’t let anyone know anything was up. We wouldn’t have left him there forever. When you were on your way, we made sure he was out.”</p>
<p class="p1">The screams from that table are still almost unending. It hurts- I can tell it just by looking at him. The surgeons don’t seem all too keen on stopping his cries or helping him deal with any of the pain. Really- they seem to be annoyed and just trying to ignore him.</p>
<p class="p1">. ..In fact, when I move closer, I note that all of these fuckers are wearing some sort of earplugs.</p>
<p class="p1">Which is just… fucking perfect. Very professional.</p>
<p class="p1">Daken doesn’t sense me either-even as I move closer. I’m literally right here. I could reach out and touch him…</p>
<p class="p1">I kinda think maybe he can’t smell anything over his scorched flesh, though. He is… god, he stinks. He needs about a hundred good scrub downs at once. We got some soap back at the house he’ll like… it’s pretty gentle. Laura left it there a while back when she got torn up. He’ll like that. It smells good. It’ll feel good on his skin, too.</p>
<p class="p1">….ya know if the skin ever comes back at this point?<br/>
The kid looks like he's made of charcoal.</p>
<p class="p1">I keep looking at him over and over- trying to figure out just how disconnected he may actually be with this scene. If he’s not all here- then it’s not as bad as it looks. It means he can go somewhere else mentally.</p>
<p class="p1">But Nah. He feels it. He knows how much these people DON’T care.</p>
<p class="p1">At first, I thought it was his flesh burned that keeps him ‘blind’ but now I’m kinda wondering if that’s on account of both of his eyes missing.</p>
<p class="p1">That’s why I couldn’t see them. They ain’t there.</p>
<p class="p1">That’s the first thing I’m able to take in besides the flesh- no eyes. Then I note that there’s no tongue, either. Blood dripping from his eardrums may mean that they punctured those not too long ago as well.</p>
<p class="p1">…they took his senses and left him with nothing but pain.</p>
<p class="p1">….they’re more twisted than I could ever DREAM of being.</p>
<p class="p1">Going on down his body, lacerations litter every inch of skin- burned and not- from chest to thigh. There’s bruising around his neck- looks like a noose of some sort if I didn’t know any better, and foam in the corner of his mouth- he’s naked as the day he was born and … well… missing some important pieces.</p>
<p class="p1">...Doubt he really needed them the last eight years. Doesn’t really seem like they encourage hookups or ‘sexy’ visits.</p>
<p class="p1">His nonburnt arm has some majorly nasty infection going on. I can see the onset of blood poising from where I’m standing. Can kinda see that he’s got some kinda… bug issue over there, too. Something moving in his skin. We’re not gonna focus on that.</p>
<p class="p1">I keep trying to make a list of what he needs to be treated for- but fuck. I don’t know. The screams are interspersed with whimpers- and the OR team doesn’t seem to know we’re here.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea, yea. It hurts.” One woman says carelessly. “Someone get me a gag!!!”</p>
<p class="p1">Ah. Such care. Now that? That’s professional.</p>
<p class="p1">“CHELS!” The Warden calls- the woman not hearing him.<br/>
<br/>
“A GAG.” She cries to her partners. “A sock! A towel! ANYTHING. SHUT HIM UP.”</p>
<p class="p1">I don’t think I’ve ever hated a person as much as I hate her at this moment.</p>
<p class="p1">“I said get me a GAG!” The woman who’s barked this has dark skin and sharp eyes- which I note when she turns to me and jumps nearly out of her skin- scalpel that was doing something to the burnt skin on Daken’s chest slipping and slicing a good bit off. “Jesus!” She quickly takes out her left earbud. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU??? The fuck are you doing in here?? Don’t you know how dangerous it is to sneak up on someone holding a fucking knife????”</p>
<p class="p1">Yea. I do. I feel stiff and helpless looking down on him- the kid’s beyond fucked. So fucked that I don’t know where to start. “I’m here to pick up my kid from this little sleep away camp,” I say stiffly. “Any chance you’ll give him his eyes back or are we just going to have to wait and see if he grows himself another pair?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Doctor Blaire Chels.” The Warden introduces her. “Our Chief Surgeon.” He motions to us. “These are the representatives from Krakoa. They’ve come to take the inmate home. I had hoped you would be farther along with his discharge.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Nice to meet you. Sorry for the shitty timing.” The woman just stares at me blankly- seeming to actually lose some of that personality (for lack of a better word). “The eyes will grow back.” She says taking her other earbud out. “They always do.” She motions for her team- a group of four- to step away- only leaving behind one guy who seems to be trying to work out some needle or another from under Daken’s skin.“Go make yourselves sparse.” She barks. “No good in all of us getting fired- is there?”</p>
<p class="p1">Sounds like this chickNEEDS to be fired, in my opinion.</p>
<p class="p1">“Chels, you wanna tell me why he’s still conscious?” The Warden asks, coming behind me. “I specifically said to sedate him … and you cannot believe how unhappy I was to hear him TWO FLOORS DOWN.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I couldn’t, sir. ” The woman responds shortly. “Simply wasn’t possible. Internally, he’s not able to process it. The shock would have sent him reeling. I figured dealing with the burns would be easier than dealing with an overdose…. And of course, you weren’t available for consultation.</p>
<p class="p1">“Watch it.” The Warden growls in warning.</p>
<p class="p1">“Sorry, sir. I just did what I thought was best. You said keep him alive. He’s alive. ”</p>
<p class="p1">“Overdose wouldn’t have killed him.” The Warden says.<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe not…. But he’d have been really sick. Didn’t think we’d want his little x-pals showing put to half a corpse.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, yea. This is much better.” I scoff.</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s just that he doesn’t LIKE overdoses.” The other doctor- the man who got to stay, says. “Can you blame him?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m confused as to what you mean when you say ‘overdose’?” Emma says, joining me, gently taking inventory for herself. “It doesn’t seem that he’s had any pain medication at all. How can you possibly overdose someone who’s not had any doses, to begin with?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh- It ain’t the pain meds on their own.” The other surgeon at his arm says. “It’s really his organs. They haven’t- OW!!”</p>
<p class="p1">His foot is stomped by Chels- who’s glaring at him. “Read the room.” She hisses.</p>
<p class="p1">The fuck?</p>
<p class="p1">“What haven’t they done??” I demand.</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s no big deal.” The Warden says. “They’ll be back online in-“</p>
<p class="p1">“What’s wrong with his organs?” I repeat.</p>
<p class="p1">“Look, with all due respect, we didn’t bring you here to pick apart our processes. We’re just trying to get everyone back where they go.”</p>
<p class="p1">“….whats wrong with his organs?” I ask again.</p>
<p class="p1">There’s a stale silence that falls between us- the only one making noise being Daken.</p>
<p class="p1">…but it seems to be less noise now that there aren’t so many people touching him all at once.</p>
<p class="p1">“They’ve sold them,” Chuck says, standing with his arms crossed. “Repeatedly. For-profit. That’s what’s wrong with them.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Is that true?” I growl, turning to the Warden.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes. It’s true. I was told that you were informed of that little transaction of ours. At the end.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…yea. Once.” I say. “You do it once. Everything I saw said ‘once’.”<br/>
<br/>
They’ve done something here. Something… I guess I should have expected. But it doesn’t keep the rage down.</p>
<p class="p1">“….he didn’t die.” The male surgeon seems unable to hold his tongue.</p>
<p class="p1">“What?”<br/>
<br/>
“He… he didn’t die. We took them out… and they came back. He didn’t die.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That’s enough.” Chels hisses at him.</p>
<p class="p1">The two surgeons and the Warden cautiously stare at me. “He’s right. We went to remove the organs when we thought the inmate was going to die… and he didn’t die. He didn’t die and the organs regrew perfectly. So we took them again. It helps recoups the costs of keeping this place running. His healing factor is totally functional- we’ve checked it daily. They grow back… it’s helped keep this place running…. So why only do it once when you can keep a steady supply of product and some lucrative income?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Steady supply of product and lucrative income,” I repeat. “You’ve been harvesting my kid?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea.” The Warden nods. “We have. Please understand this- Organs sell good. They sell high and they’re helpful. The inmate has a universal blood type- ya know that? A universal blood type and a nigh-impossible to smudge out healing factor. No matter what we do to him- where we put him, what we put in him, what we take out of him- he heals. We get him to some clear air, let his healing factor flush the toxins… and then we extract them. It’s simple- it’s easy- and it would be foolish NOT to use him.” He looks at me and then off to the side. “It’s good for business.”</p>
<p class="p1">I know that this makes sense to them- and it does. But… fuck.</p>
<p class="p1">“…you give him something for pain during this?” I ask, curiously. “Cause that’s gotta hurt like…. fuck.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Well…. Pain medication can… interfere with extraction.” The male surgeon says- still not taking Chels hints.</p>
<p class="p1">“No. They haven’t.” Emma supplies. “Daken’s mind is a muck with these extractions. His comfort is of very little consequence in any given task.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Yep. Well, pain and suffering…that’s kinda the deal here.” The Warden says. “If we’d known he was innocent, none of this would have happened. We’d have returned him on day one and I think you know that. So stop busting my staff’s balls, alright? We only did what you told us.”</p>
<p class="p1">The screams have now tapered off into whimpers. Thank god for small mercies, I guess? <br/>
I think he’s just getting tired.</p>
<p class="p1">“There’s a good boy! Good. We like it when it’s quiet.” Chels gently pats his unburnt cheek. “Organs will regrow in a few hours.” She nods to me. “Eyes in a day or two- it’ll be all good.”</p>
<p class="p1">“And flesh?” Emma asks. “Will he recover from his charcoal brick status?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course it will.” Chels huffs. “It’s just a burn. He gets them all the time.” She pats his cheek again. “He knows what to do if he wants it to go away.”</p>
<p class="p1">….she talks to him like she’s talking to a dog. Or a naughty child.</p>
<p class="p1">We can’t act like any of this is something we didn’t know we had signed on for. We can be mad- we can be pissed- we can be disgusted. But I knew what happened here. We knew. And I sent him anyway. We did.</p>
<p class="p1">He starts to whimper again- I think starting to realize that someone else is in here. Maybe trying to get us to help. Maybe just trying to get us to leave.</p>
<p class="p1">“Hush now,” Chels repeats, keeping her hand on his face. “We’re going to send you home today. You’ll be the first inmate released in<em> two hundred years</em>. A legend. Sounds cool, right? Getting to be someone famous? Oh, they’ll be talking about you for months.”</p>
<p class="p1">He jerkily shakes his head- causing the hooks in his skin to rip.</p>
<p class="p1">“The fuck is he wearing those for??” The Warden hisses. “Take ‘em out!”</p>
<p class="p1">Chels is quick to do so, removing them and quickly patting down the torn area with a bloody piece of gauze. “You shouldn’t jerk like that.” She chides. “Getting me in all sorts of trouble.”</p>
<p class="p1">He makes an almost- and this kills me- apologetic noise. He listens to her- he hears here. He hears all these awful things she’s saying.</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s alright. There’s no need to do anything bout it now, is there?” She sighs. “Now, hold still…. You’ve really caused a mess these last few days-“<br/>
<br/>
he tries to apologize- again.<br/>
<br/>
“No, no. No speaking.” She orders. “Just be quiet and we’ll get you road ready. You can go be famous. Who doesn’t want to be famous?”</p>
<p class="p1">The way she says that makes me feel sick to my stomach. “Why the fuck would he want to be famous in <em>this</em> shit hole?” I snarl.</p>
<p class="p1">“Look here, fucker. I’m just trying to calm him down. I want him out of here probably even more than you do. You let me calm him down, and we can move him.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Then you should try to do better at calming him down.” I scoff. “None of what you’ve said is REMOTELY calming.”</p>
<p class="p1">“A thousand pardons……” She says cruelly. “But in case you haven’t noticed- calming people down isn’t really MY JOB. MY JOB is to slice him open. I cut him up and I take the shit out. I slice his face- I bust his eardrums. I take his tongue. I take his fingers. I even take fingernails. I strap him down day in and day out and do the most awful things I can think to do to him because THAT? That is my JOB. I harvest his organs even if we DON’T need them. I exist to terrify him.And if I had MY way today? I’d have slit his little throat when he STARTED screaming. I cannot stand to hear your idiot kid scream. It’s my LEAST favorite sound. This little brat is SO entitled and everyone is just tripping over themselves to make it better- but it’s NOT better.” She addresses that to him. “Because if you were SMART you wouldn’t be here, would you????? If you WORTH SOMETHING, they’d have gotten you SOONER. You spend all this fucking time saying how innocent you are and how you didn’t do anything and you were ‘good’ but YOU’RE NOT. Because if you were GOOD THIS WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED. YOU ARE NOT GOOD. THESE THINGS DO NOT HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE. YOU DON’T DESERVE TO BE PARDONED OF SHIT.”</p>
<p class="p1">…holy fuck. Talk about kicking someone when they’re down.</p>
<p class="p1">“The actual fuck is your problem???” I gasp. “Why are you saying that to him??”</p>
<p class="p1">“why??? Why???” She turns to me incredulously. “Because I hate him.” She laughs. “I do. I hate them all. I hate them. I hurt them and I use them and then I go home and feel absolutely fucking great about myself.I don’t hold hands. I don’t pat shoulders. I don’t give long-deserved moments of rest. No one leaves my OR with a smile. I HATE HIM. Yesterday I removed his liver- forcefully. Now today they’re making me hold his hand and say that it’s all been some big old bad nightmare that will alllll just go away.” She nudges his burnt arm. “But it won’t. And he knows it- don’t you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“God damnit, Chels….” The Warden hisses. “Can you PLEASE be nicer?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Fine.” She turns back to Daken. “I hope you die. I hope you die fast and quietly so no one ever has to listen to your voice or see your stupid face eeeeevvvvvvver again.” She looks up at the Warden. “Nice enough?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Woman- we’re gonna have a talk, you and I.” He says- he seems actually sickened by her behavior.</p>
<p class="p1">“…we should move Daken,” Emma says quietly from behind us. “I… I think he’s ready to go.”</p>
<p class="p1"><br/>
Chels swings around to the Warden. “What do you want me to say, <em>sir</em>? I cut him open. I’ve cut him open for eight years. You told me to be his nightmare- and I am. I’m not gonna play all nice y-nice so he doesn’t get his stupid little feelings hurt. What’s he gonna do? Leave a bad review of the place? You worried yelp is gonna come knocking on our door? Worried he’s gonna call cooperate?? I can make the damage to the mouth a little more severe if you’re worried, Sir. I can take some tendons in the fingers so he can’t type. Would that make you feel better?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I mean it Chels.” the Warden warns. “Wrap this up. Nicely. Calm him down.” He turns to us. “We’ll uh….” He clears his throat. “We can discuss some… compensation towards aftercare.”</p>
<p class="p1">“….oh?”<br/>
<br/>
I just look at my kid and this fuming woman unable to say anything.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes. I actually know a really good therapist…”<br/>
<br/>
I let that situation fade- and just move over to my kid. “Can you just… get him ready?” I ask. “Please.”</p>
<p class="p1">She nods. “If that’s what you want.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t spook him anymore, Chels.” The Warden orders. “I swear to god, woman. You are on such thin ice that you’re already underneath it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Hard not to spook him at this point.” The woman grumbles. “But if you say be ‘nice’ then I’ll be ‘nice’. So let's just all be nice and get you home, huh?” She says ‘sweetly’. “Your name’s cleared. Did they tell you that? Did you listen? Were the words small enough? You’re completely innocent of those awful terrible things they said you did. Isn’t that great? You let me fix you alllll up and we never have to see each other again. I don’t have to listen to you scream… you don’t have to bleed all over my nice clean Operating table…. And I never have to see you EVER again. I’m so happy. Aren’t you happy?”</p>
<p class="p1">He honestly answers with a small shake of his head.<br/>
…can’t blame him after the massive emotional lashing he just took in front of God and everyone.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes, you are, inmate. Please don’t purposefully rile her up again.” The Warden says, forcefully. “There will be no further discussion. Your people are here and they want you to come home. Surely you don’t want them to leave you here. You have to go.”</p>
<p class="p1">I can see him gasping for air- failing because he’s actually starting to get tearful.</p>
<p class="p1">My kid- strapped to an OR table, fully conscious, 5th degree burns coating him, and he’s begging <em>not</em> to go home.</p>
<p class="p1">“O5. You have to GO.” Chels says “You are not supposed to be here. You can’t stay. Now let them take you home. I need you out of my OR. GET OUT.”</p>
<p class="p1">He makes a small half-hearted attempt at moving- but can’t.</p>
<p class="p1">She points at me and mouths “dad?”</p>
<p class="p1">I nod- who else would I be?</p>
<p class="p1">“Look, O5… they even brought your dad… don’t you wanna go home with your dad?” She tries.</p>
<p class="p1">He completely loses it at that. At me. Me. His dad.</p>
<p class="p1">“Easy!” She snaps before correcting herself back to that horrible sugary tone. “Easy! It’s over now. It’s all over. You’re a free man!”</p>
<p class="p1">It doesn’t help him settle….. I think maybe he’s just… well he’s been too trashed today.</p>
<p class="p1">She starts to become visibly frustrated again. “What do you want me to say??” She growls. “You’re going home, idiot! You don’t have to stay here! Why the fuck would you want to stay HERE??? You are a fucking lunatic!! You can have clean air and food and whatever the fuck else you want. Just calm down so they can fucking take you! You are DRIVING ME insane!!”</p>
<p class="p1">He’s getting more and more desperate- more and more upset.</p>
<p class="p1">“What do you want- huh?” She asks, desperation in her tone. “Food? Do you want food? Clean food? Good food? They can give you that. They can feed you. They can make sure it’s all good and clean and unspoiled…. You like that, don’t you? Who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t like to eat?”</p>
<p class="p1">Daken’s obviously not following her here.</p>
<p class="p1">“You want food?” She growls. “They’ll feed you! I promise. They’ll feed you but if you stay with us- we will never feed you again. Got it????”</p>
<p class="p1">The cries start up again.</p>
<p class="p1">“What do you want???” She screams- angrily right over top of him. “Money??? Huh- is that it? Do you want money? You want something for your time here? Some restoration? FINE. We’ll give you a shit ton of money! You can have as much as you want- you can MILLIONS. BUT YOU CAN ONLY GET IT IF YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OR.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Chels! Enough!” The Warden tries again.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yea, how much you gonna send him?” I ask bitterly. “Does he get some commission off the organs?”</p>
<p class="p1">“You can fuck right off.” The woman turns to me, glaring daggers. “I’m trying to get him to go with you. I’m doing you a favor.”</p>
<p class="p1">“And we’re all super grateful and the loving and wonderful effort.” I snarl. “I just want to know how much eight years of organ removal has earned him.”</p>
<p class="p1">“STOP SCREAMING.” She yells at him- very close to his face. “I can’t fucking THINK! STOP SCREAMING. ”</p>
<p class="p1">“Chels- that’s it!” The Warden screams. “OUT.”</p>
<p class="p1">“This is MY OR.” The woman snarls. “I want this lunatic OUT of here.” She snarls, slapping her hand down on the table beside him- accidentally hitting a very broken finger in the process.“SHUT UP!” She screams at him.</p>
<p class="p1">…I think we’re seeing just what toll this place is taking on this poor woman.</p>
<p class="p1">“Get him out, right the fuck now Carl. ” She orders- face deranged. “Please, I just need him out. I can’t keep looking at him.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…not pretty enough for you?” Emma asks, voice drier than a desert.</p>
<p class="p1"> “You wanna pick a fight bitch? Pick a fight.” Chels says. “But I'm done. I don’t want to see his stupid face anymore. I don’t care what you do to him. I don’t care what you say to him. I don’t care if he comes back with you- I don’t care if you go throw him in a god damn ditch. Get him out of my OR.”</p>
<p class="p1"> Emma nods before turning to me. “We can’t take him like this,” She says while gently taking his hand- having to try twice because of how severely he flinches. “The portal will be too harsh on him.” She gently strokes him- letting him wrap his hand in her’s- his claws have been pulled out- not only can I see it in his knuckles- but all six of them are carelessly left on the floor- next to a container FILLED with the previous ones they pulled out. “it’s okay.” She soothes. “I promise. It’s okay.”</p>
<p class="p1">Emma’s eyes…. They’re holding a look that even I know to be scared of.</p>
<p class="p1">“How could you possibly talk to someone like that?” She hisses. “How could you say any of those awful, cruel-hearted, things KNOWING that he’s innocent??”</p>
<p class="p1">“You’re welcome to fill out a complaint card with cooperate.” Chels snarls. “My stupid ex-husband will be more than willing to bend over backward for a pretty blonde with big tits. Won’t you, Carl??”</p>
<p class="p1">…guess that explains the weird feel between them, huh? </p>
<p class="p1">“Let’s just put this behind us for the moment,” Chuck says, his quiet was eerily noted for me. “Daken can’t stay here for another moment. Not if we wish to save at least a shred of his sanity.”</p>
<p class="p1">My hearing is fifty times better than theirs so I know they don’t hear how fast his heart is racing. They don’t hear the wet gurgle as he tries to breathe. Most importantly though, they can’t see how hard he’s trembling.</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s obvious that bitch isn’t going to help.” I snarl. “You’re a pair of telepaths. Do what you gotta do and knock him out. We have to move him NOW. I want him home!”</p>
<p class="p1">“You’re right,” Emma says quickly. “I was worried that us getting in his mind might hurt him but… you’re right. I don’t want him to be around that shrewish bitch anymore than you do.” Emma puts her hand to his face. “Shhh. Go to sleep.” She soothes. “Go to sleep. It’s alright. Sleep.”</p>
<p class="p1">And he’s out. Out like a light.</p>
<p class="p1">Out like a light and he still looks like we just pulled him out of a grill.</p>
<p class="p1">“Please provide us with a list of the organs that have been removed and how many times they’ve been removed so we may monitor their regrowth,” Chuck says. “I believe I’ve already spoken with your legal team about transferring his charts.”</p>
<p class="p1">… Charts seems too nice a word for whatever records they’ll have on him.</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course,” Chels says, much quieter now.</p>
<p class="p1">The Warden steps to the edge of the table. “There is an exit the staff uses down the hall.” He says. “I do not think taking him back down the row will be in his best interest… If you take this door, it will lead you down a fire escape. I’m sure your portal will have no trouble opening.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m touched by your concern, Warden. But I can’t help but note that it didn’t seem to stop you from bringing us upthrough your house of horrors.” Emma scoffs.</p>
<p class="p1">“Yes well…. I’ve certainly caused him enough strain. I’d rather he leave in peace.” He says. “As peaceful as possible.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sure you don’t mean ‘pieces’?” I glare at him. “Why’d you take the eyes?”</p>
<p class="p1">“…it’s procedure.” He says after a long moment. “no worries. They grow back.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Why did you take them?” I repeat.</p>
<p class="p1">“Logan it hardly matters,” Emma says. “Let’s just get him home.”</p>
<p class="p1">I glance from the Warden and back to Chels who even though she was previously screaming in his face, is now carefully dressing Daken’s burns- and him, for that matter.</p>
<p class="p1">“He ain’t gonna get some fucked up mutie infection the second he leaves.” She growls at me. “Don’t think I’m doing him any favors. I still hate him.” She soaks a large cloth in a salve before draping over him. Taping it down carefully at his shoulder, stomach, and hip. It encloses his arm and some of his thigh. She drapes a regular non-soaked sheet around the rest of him. When she glances up she nods. “The wet sheet helps- and if it’s dry it won’t matter, he wets whatever he sleeps on. Fucker’s cell is a MESS.” </p>
<p class="p1">Hm. “…not gonna scream at him anymore?” I ask gruffly. “Maybe bring up some more traumatic memories? I got a few you can share.”<br/>
<br/>
She shakes her head. “….I hate him. It’s my job to hate him. I did my job.” She continues to dress him. “This will keep the wounds covered- they’re gonna need cleaned. Again- I’d put something over his bed or make him sleep on the floor. He wets.”</p>
<p class="p1">Hearing someone so angry about someone wetting themselves in their sleep after years of torture just doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t know how to respond- to any of this.</p>
<p class="p1">She soaks a small strip of cloth in some other sort of chemical and wraps it around his eyes. “He’s gonna bitch about the eyes. He doesn’t like it when we take them. Just a heads up. Keep something wet around them while they grow back- helps with the pain. Less pain less bitching- blah blah blah. Now pick him up. It’s obvious you’re not gonna make him be a big boy and walk.”</p>
<p class="p1">“you really are the worst human I’ve ever met,” I mumble as I lift him a little too fast. I’m stunned to find that he’s light as all hell. So much so that when I pull him up- we go flying. “SHIT.” I have to catch myself from falling- making sure that he doesn’t knock into anything either.</p>
<p class="p1">“Are you alright?” Emma asks, quickly moving to my side and steadying me.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m good.” I glance at my boy in my arms.</p>
<p class="p1">“Is Daken alright?” She asks, quickly running her hand over his forehead. “Still sleeping. Thank god for that.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">“he’s good. We’re good.” I say with a nod. “There’s uh… there’s just… less of him than I thought there’d be.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Lead them out.” The Warden says. “I’ll speak with Charles about the legalities of the situation.”</p>
<p class="p1">Yea cause Chuck did SO well with those, to begin with.</p>
<p class="p1">Chels leads us down a smaller hallway to a another well it exit.</p>
<p class="p1">“<em>I’m not sorry.” </em>She hisses. “You muties took my kids from me. I won’t apologize for hurting yours- ever.”</p>
<p class="p1">I just stare at her. “How can you do this?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I tell the truth.” She says simply.</p>
<p class="p1">“I suppose it helps ease your conscious to know that all of your victims are marked for death,” Emma adds from behind me.</p>
<p class="p1">“…Yea. I guess it does.” Chels turns to Emma. “if you’d done your jobs- he wouldn’t be here. You know that right? If you’d been smart? If you’d be ‘fair’? But you never are. Not a single one of you.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Believe or it or not…. I agree with you.” Emma says. “Somewhat. We’ll do better. We’ll do better because we now know just how many AWFUL things you’ll do if we don’t.” Emma’s departure makes a statement- I’ll give her that.</p>
<p class="p1">Chels stands still as a statue beside me. “…he sleeps better if he’s in water.”</p>
<p class="p1">…I don’t know what made her say that.</p>
<p class="p1">“…and repetitive motions help him sleep faster.”</p>
<p class="p1">“…thanks?” I say. “I guess…?”</p>
<p class="p1">She nods,ushering me out. “I hope you muties get better at your fucking jobs.” She says dryly. “Another year or two and your boy would be DEAD.” She slams the door in my face- just like that.</p>
<p class="p1">Emma stands at the bottom of the stairs, waiting.</p>
<p class="p1">“Charles will join us later,” She says, moving to the yard and activating another portal. “Let’s…. Let’s just get him home.”</p>
<p class="p1">This isn’t how I had planned to bring Daken back. I thought it would be… different. As I walk through the portal, I can’t help but notice how many people are hanging around. Before anyone can say anything Emma silences the growing crowd.</p>
<p class="p1"><br/>
“It didn’t go well.” That is all she says, ushering me through. “Give him space.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I'm moving this little note around to just the first chapter because I did not know it was gonna post on all of them and that just seems like overkill. </p><p>Basically what I wanna tell y'all is that know I have a shit ton of WIPS that need finished. Unfortunately, as of about 2 days before x-mas 2020 (of course) I found out that I had cancer. And then a few weeks after I found out it had grown.... by like a lot. SO, best case scenario all the drugs work, I mind my p's and q's, live healthy, and get twenty or so more years.<br/>Worst case scenario I choke on fluids while I'm sleeping and no one will ever get to read the end of these fics.<br/>The thing is- that's life. It's just how it goes. If it's not me, it's someone else. </p><p>I'm saying all of this (only once) because I wanted to be sure to explain why I will probably be putting out mass amounts of WIPS and one-shots that seem completely random. Dark, light, fluff... ya know- all of it. </p><p>I'm posting all of this to keep myself busy and sane- though this fic doesn't really say much for my sanity, does it? XD<br/>I'm just hoping that whatever may come out of this I'll have faced it with some grace and maybe y'all've enjoyed some of the ride along with me. </p><p>So yea. There it is. Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Sideways- intro</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>triggers<br/>-abuse victim blaming<br/>-stream of consciousness like feel<br/>-time jumps<br/>-disconnected thoughts/feelings<br/>-unreliable narrarotror<br/>-talk of assault (physical, sexual)<br/>-talk of torture<br/>-aftermath of torture<br/>-hurt/comfort<br/>-mention of self-harm (Not shown)<br/>-implied referenced and slightly shown - spoken of, no details- of rape<br/>-stalker<br/>-Brain damage</p><p>....and that's it!<br/>I really like writing weird and disjointed thoughts when characters are going through it. </p><p>So let me know what y'all think!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">I was given some good advice once upon a time… all the years ago after my trial. Perhaps maybe a day to two into my actual sentence? My ordeal was still very new to me then. The best advice I think I received within the last eight years was that when nothing else makes sense… makes everything really simple.</p><p class="p1"><br/><em>Simple</em> will save you time. <em>Simple words </em>will save you <em>oxygen</em>. <em>Simple obedience</em> will save <em>bloodshed</em>.Less bloodshed will breed fewer infections. Less infections, less pain. Less pain, more obedience.</p><p class="p1"><br/>Keeping it simple was ironically enough, the purest and most simple of ways to survive.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">No one likes a mouthy prisoner. No one. <em>(Regardless of what they seem to laugh at you for after the fact.)</em> </p><p class="p1"><br/>For years I would try and plead my case until I was blue in the face and breathless…but they didn’t care. I could use big words- I could use sources I’d learned awaiting trial. …they <em>didn’t</em> care. A man could drive himself crazy trying to be ‘intelligent’ or ‘complex’.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">No. They don’t want your smarts… they just want your compliance. Compliance... blood, sweat, and tears. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So with great care, I learned to keep it simple. I think in small words and I count things. I count things around me- patterns, people, things. I count and I count. It keeps me safe. The numbers? They are a suit of armor.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I count up two flights of stairs- twenty steps (<em>…up up up</em>). Five steps to the left.Two to the right. Back. Up and then down again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Up…and down…. and sideways. (<em>Sideways is new. It’s just forming</em>.)<br/><br/>I count up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Up. UP. UP. Keep going Up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>(Ten steps. Twenty, Fifteen. Up. Up. Up.) </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Up isn’t as hot as <em>down</em>, but it’s pointier. I sometimes wish to trade the points for the heat.</p><p class="p1">…but it doesn’t work like that.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">None of it works like that.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Be quiet. Hold still. STOP SCREAMING.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I follow the white line. <b>ONLY THE WHITE LINE</b>.</p><p class="p1">Step. Step. Wait. wait.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….hold. (Still). Wait. (silently) Stay. (quiet)</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I go up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Up. I like up. I’ve always liked up. Up is good. Bloody and painful and… and…. bright…</p><p class="p1">… But good.</p><p class="p1"><em>Good is good.</em> You should be good. <em>Everyone</em> should be good. <em>Good is what is good</em>. Good needs to be good. <b>We should be good. </b><br/><br/>Up.<br/>up.</p><p class="p1">Up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I count three. Three men in masks.</p><p class="p1">Up. (<em>and down)</em></p><p class="p1">Up.(<em>and down</em>)</p><p class="p1">Up.(<em>and down</em>)</p><p class="p1"><br/>The suits are blue now. What a change.</p><p class="p1"><br/>Maybe years have passed faster than I thought.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">These scents that I am picking up… they aren’t up scents but they aren’t down scents, either.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They don’t smell like sweat or heat. They don’t smell like blood. They don’t smell like sour stomach acid… They don’t smell like rubbing alcohol.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…in Hell, things don’t change much. Why would they? We’re not worthy of change.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….if we were innocent, someone would have come for us by now.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I haven’t heard any overhead announcements in days. Someone usually says something- anything. But no- no bells, no alarms, and no lights. Then again…I wouldn’t know lights, anyway, would I? I’m blind again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I’ve learned a lot for an idiot. The number one lesson is that you<em> DO NOT FIGHT WITH UP</em>. Not when they’re up and <em>definitely</em> not when they’re<em> down</em>.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Hold still. Shut up. Don’t scream. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My skin doesn’t feel as burnt today. It’s so odd and frightening that I don’t feel the burns anymore.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…am I dying?<br/><br/>I’ve always had burns. Always. I have so many new areas of skin regenerating that can be tortured in such intimately painful ways… why shouldn’t I be constantly burned?</p><p class="p1">My feet. My hands. My arms. My side. My back. My face. There are always burns. But now? I don’t feel them. Have I gone up? For good?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….or is this a trick..? It must be a trick.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Up isn’t on the table for me. It’s a pipe dream. A fantasy. Something I used to think of to try and help me sleep.</p><p class="p1">Not having burns is insane. It’s almost <em>silly</em>. That doesn’t happen. In what world are there no burns? There are ALWAYS burns.Always.</p><p class="p1">Where is the heat? Where are the sores? why can’t I smell the smoke?</p><p class="p1"><br/>Am I dead?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My cell is suspended over a vat of oil- it reeks and keeps me boiling constantly. There is one small square area where the heat can’t reach all the way through- in the corner. I have to stay in this small little square and not move for however long they decide to keep me there.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…there is no bathroom.</p><p class="p1">….there is no chow hall.</p><p class="p1">…there is no shower.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Occasionally, we will be drug out of our cells and thrown into some vat of water with our legs/hands/arms bound. Best to stay shallow on those.</p><p class="p1"><br/>If they don’t feel like fishing you out- they won’t.The water isn’t fit for drinking. It’s soap-filled in the same sense that your washing machine at home is. Bleach water and detergent.</p><p class="p1">It’s painful as all hell. But then again- so is everything else.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I think of soap a lot in the last day or so. Things are changing- you see. And when things change, the first instinct most have is to clean everything up and start from the beginning.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…but what beginning do I have to offer these people?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The scents aren’t up scents. They aren’t down scents…what exists between up and down? There is nothing. There can’t be. It’s up… or down.</p><p class="p1"><br/>UP. UP.<br/>or down. Down.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">UP.<br/>Or</p><p class="p1">Down.</p><p class="p1"><br/>Or.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Can you hear me, Akihiro?” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Up.<br/>Up.</p><p class="p1">UP.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Run quickly. Up. And UP. Escape. Getaway.</p><p class="p1">…no one uses that name.</p><p class="p1">No one.<br/><br/><b>“Akihiro? Do you hear me?” </b></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Up. Up. Up.I can feel it when people stare at me. I’ve always been good at it- even without my eyes.</p><p class="p1"><br/>Up. Faster. Faster. Run.<br/>No one uses that name.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“….was a gross negligence and oversight on our parts.” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Is that an announcement?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….was I meant to mark it?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My hands are bound in soft leather cuffs. I am carried on some sort of stiff board from building to building. There is a growing crowd- gasps and confusion. The world is bright- I see the sun. I haven’t seen the sun in years.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….I do not know what this means. I do not know this place. I do not know these people.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><b>“Clearly a mistrial. The evidence was not tested. The lies were too heavy and our own misguided notions lead us to the unlawful-“ </b><br/><br/>Unlawful… that’s bad. Bad is down. Break a law and go down. Break a rule and go down.</p><p class="p1">Down smells like heat. Blood. Stench.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It is probably…best to stay away from <em>unlawful things</em>. </p><p class="p1"><br/>The crowds- they are different now. They look different.<br/>Before, I remember crowds of people yelling. Shouting. Throwing things. Demanding the most horrific of things be done to me for their entertainment.</p><p class="p1">….I didn’t do anything to them.</p><p class="p1">I didn’t do it.<br/>I didn’t do it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I… I’m going down again. (<em>Down and down</em>) Smoke and heat and ash.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…But I didn’t do it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I told them. I didn’t do it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I told the x-men. I told the judge. I told the Five. </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>…I told my father.</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it.I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t do it.</p><p class="p1">I didn’t do it. I’m innocent. I didn’t do it.</p><p class="p1">In Hell, 1a dies first- always. They can never cut it for long. It’s common courtesy to expect your own extinction to be pushed back by the arrival of a new 1a.</p><p class="p1">1 a’s don’t take up much time or space. Things will return to normal quickly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The prisoners don’t get new numbers in Hell- no new names.We just inherit the old ones. Things are better that way- no attachments. You’re not allowed that.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">… I think it makes keeping track of us easy on the guards as well. There are not many of us here and the turnover rate is astronomical.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I am not a 1a. Or any 1-4 a’s. I’m 05. That’s a new number. I am the only one who received a new number.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I do not know what exactly it stands for. Perhaps they made it up?</p><p class="p1"><br/>It doesn’t really matter much. If they did make it for me, it wasn’t out of kindness. Why would it be? No one likes me at home. No one listens to me. No one gave me a chance… So why give me a name?</p><p class="p1"><br/>…Maybe that’s not really completely true. One of the guards likes me- I think. She doesn’t hit as hard…that’s very nice of her. If my lips weren’t sewn shut- I could tell her.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…but my lips are sealed…. So my gratitude goes unnoted. I’m not trying to be rude- but I know that’s how she’s taking it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 b has died. He went down…. down….. and down. He murdered children. All of his children. And now he is down. He is down and he will never come back up.<br/><br/>Me? I didn’t murder my children.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I don’t have children. I didn’t murder anyone's children- not on that island and not in the few good years before.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I didn’t do it! I wouldn’t! I was trying to do better! I wanted to be good….and I can.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><b><em>I can be good</em></b>. I can be quiet. I can be small. I can take up so little space that they’ll completely overlook me. I won’t need food… or water… or shelter. I can be too good.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I can be the <em>best</em>. I can be the <em>quietest</em>. I can be the <em>smallest</em>.</p><p class="p1"><br/><em>I can be good. Good is good. Good is what you should be. Good is up. Bad is down. </em><br/><br/>…why can I NEVER go up?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>I’ll be good. I will. I'll be so good. I'll be too good. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Bad things… bad things don’t happen when you’re good. I can't take any more bad things. </p><p class="p1">I need to be good. I need to go up. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….if you are good, they’ll come back for you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">You just have to wait. You have to wait and you have to give them your blood and your bones and your organs…. And then they’ll come back for you.</p><p class="p1">It’s rent.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…They have to collect at some point.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I’ll be good. I’ll give them my bones. I like my bones. They can have them. They can take my claws- it’s painful and humiliating- but they can have them if they want them.<br/>My organs are in good shape. They can have them. I will be good. I will be good and they will see that I didn’t do it. </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">1 a died again. He had a heart issue- they didn’t treat it. (Why would they?)</p><p class="p1"><br/>I was good. I did not die.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 c is a woman. She was pregnant. The baby is dead. They killed it. Maybe they killed her too. Maybe losing her baby killed her. She wanted to keep it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I fell again today but I did not die.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 a died again.</p><p class="p1">1 b died again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 7 died.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 a drowned.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 b burnt.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 a fell between the wall and the grate- no one picked her up. She is dead. She is burnt. I can smell her.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 a drowned again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…My insides taste like charred ash...but I did not die today.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…can I go to bed? Can I go to sleep?</p><p class="p1">Rats are in the vents again. There’s a fly infestation raging from the slow decay of a few 1 a’s who haven’t quite hit the right spot in the coals. They haven’t cleared the pit properly. Blood is in the hall- it covers the white line. The steam burns my skin when I don’t see.</p><p class="p1"><br/>How do you follow the line when you can’t see it?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…what good are eyes anyway?They take them…. And then they take them again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Maybe that’s for the best…. For the best that I don’t see what they’re doing to me. Maybe it’s for the best that I don’t see what they do to the others.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…were any of these people innocent… like me? I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. And I told them that- again and again. They scream at me to stop lying. How could I be so careless? So heartless? So cruel?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…what’s the point of having eyes if you can’t see the white line anyway?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Another year. Another day. I have not died. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 a has burned alive.</p><p class="p1">1 a has drowned.</p><p class="p1">1 a has been buried alive.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…is it over? Am I done? Will they bore of me?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">1 a has drowned.</p><p class="p1">2 b- we have 2’s now. 2 b has been roasted alive.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…no one will move the corpse. I see it from my cell. She almost pulled herself out. Almost.</p><p class="p1">…I was hoping she’d make it. But she is dead.</p><p class="p1"><br/>Every person I see is a corpse. Waiting and waiting and waiting.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>I go up… but I do not die. I go up… and then come back. And then up again. </em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">This is new.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>They scream in my face. They hit me. They stab me. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I do not die. I am good and I do not die.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Why can’t I sleep? My mind replays all of what I know- as I do every night. Up. Down.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…Sideways- there is a sideways now. There’s a sideways because my mind hasn’t been exactly where I thought it has for the last few days. I am not in Hell- yet somehow, I am. The past is not where it was and the present isn’t where it should be… which means the future is far too fucked for any of us to tell.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Now. On to sideways. Sideways is… soft. Sideways is…clean. It’s gentle noises. People don’t burn in sideways. They may drown, though. There is a great amount of water Sideways. Water and soap. Bubbles. Soft washcloths and heavy salves. Ash and blood and charred skin <em>must</em> come off in sideways. You don’t get to keep those things. That’s what the water is for. I visit sideways many times a day. I don’t think they like my smell.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">… I am cautious with sideways. 1a’s drown a lot. I know what it’s like to drown. I don’t want to do it again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I can only assume that with the new change of locale- I’ve become the new 1a. I must be. No one else is here…no one like me, at any rate.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But I am good and I do not die- in my own way, I am the best 1a there has ever been.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Now there is more time. More water. More bubbles. More scrubbing.</p><p class="p1"><br/>My nails are trimmed- both feet and hands. My teeth are cared for and scrubbed three times daily. They help me care for my hair as it regrows- helping me style it as I wish...Then, there’s more scrubbing. Always more scrubbing. Eight years of grime doesn’t come off easy, I’m told.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As our time moves slowly forward, Sideways reveals another interesting option- another side. Sides are all around- actually. Why is everything so open? Why can I not feel the walls?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I know the walls burn and stink and pinch and suffocate- but they are home. Why am I not home? Why would anyone ever let me go anywhere but home?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…where am I?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I have a bed- a bunk, I guess. I have blankets. I have open air.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…these are things that are not known to me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Though I hate to admit it, I wet my bunk.</p><p class="p1">Sometimes- I vomit on my bedding before I can move to the floor. Sometimes I piss myself while being held captive for a string of night terrors.</p><p class="p1">Whatever the reason or the bodily liquid, I am not punished. Though it's still humiliating to have to inform someone that I've pissed myself like a toddler. </p><p class="p1">While there is never a crossword mumbled, there are unfortunately more bubbles.</p><p class="p1">….and more scrubbing.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My skin smells like lemongrass and it does not flake off in disgusting jerky-like strips now. </p><p class="p1">1 a has not died in a few days…not that I know of. I’m supposed to keep track of that. It’s my job. I etch them into my bones. The trouble is that I’m not allowed to cut my bones here. They do not like that. It is scary to them. They ask why I would do such a thing.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….haven’t they heard? I’m evil. I’m not human. Despicable.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I try to be good. I try to be quiet.I try to be small. I am good and I do not die.</p><p class="p1"><b>“We will spend as much time and effort that is needed to go above and beyond the level of care that is-“ </b><br/><br/>There is no longer an up or a down- not in a discernible way. I don’t feel the difference. They walk me up and then walk me down…. But it’s hardly notable. What is notable… is that there are now eyes…. everywhere. No walls. No up. No down. No burns. No cuts. No stabs. No harvesting. But eyes.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….<em>Eyes everywhere</em>.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>‘Now O5, tell me…What’s the good of having eyes if you can’t see?’</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Keep your eye on the white line.</p><p class="p1">Keep your head down.</p><p class="p1">Best not to open your mouth.<br/>Best not to cry.<br/>Best not to hiss.</p><p class="p1">Best not to howl.</p><p class="p1"><br/>Follow the line. Only the line. Feet on the line. Ignore the hissing. Ignore the heat.</p><p class="p1">…eyes on the prize.</p><p class="p1">Eyes on the line.</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <b>“… seems to be in a dissociative state.”</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The crowds jeer and shout….Such awful things. I’ve never been so alone. They locked me in my home- my team despises me. No matter how hard I try. I try to talk to them. I try to prove my innocence. No one likes me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…did anyone ever really?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They throw things at me- they scream threats that I know they can follow through with. My family won’t speak to me. My lover wasn’t faithful, to begin with.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…my father hates me. He decides where I go. He decides where I’d be best suited.</p><p class="p1">… I cried. In front of them all. I just wanted him to say my name. That’s it. I just wanted to hear my father say my name.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…my case file is O5. I do not get a ‘a-b-c’ designation. Mine is all my own. It’s mine because they do not plan on my death to be easy.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My father won’t say my name.<br/>My sisters won’t say my name.</p><p class="p1">My friends won’t say my name.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I have no name. I have no home. I have no people.</p><p class="p1">They do me the honor of blocking my ‘minor’ powers- my pheromones. They slam these plates into my head- painful and sharp and hot. Then though they know it won’t stick- they hold me down and pull out my claws- and there’s so many of them. I try to say I didn’t do it. Ten times. Twenty times. Fifty times.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I. DID. NOT. TOUCH. HIM.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I etched that into my bones a few times over the years- just as a reminder.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I didn’t touch him.</p><p class="p1">I didn’t do it.</p><p class="p1">I was good. I was sweet. I wanted a new life.<br/>I did cases and I did them well. I followed orders.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….I tried to be less gross. I tried to be more open.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But it didn’t matter. They didn’t care. They said I needed to tell the truth. …but I was.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I didn’t have another truth to tell. I could only tell them what I knew. They told me not to lie.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“…we can’t wean him off the pain medication any time soon.” </b>
</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <b>“Would you like an interview?”</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I can do things now. I can look at people. I can see. No one has died here.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Would you like an interview?”</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…death has no claim in this place. It never has.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I hear people scuffle in the hallways- heavy footsteps.<br/><br/>This isn’t a hospital.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…that I know.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Would you like-“ </b>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Akihiro! It’s lovely to see you! How may I-“ </b>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">It’s not ‘lovely’ to see me. No one’s called me lovely in years.<br/><br/>I keep my head down. I keep my eyes shut.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I am good. I do not die.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Look-“ </b>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <em>Eyes. </em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <b>“Can we get a picture-“ </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Eyes. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“What is his status as far as being a citizen of Krakoa? ”</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Krakoa….yes. That is home for now. That its what he is called- that is his name. Mutants dwell on the island nation of Krakoa. Where we are safe.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I dwell in the little room at the top of a small building that’s sheltered by a large tree. If I look out the window- I see people looking back at me. All of those eyes….they don’t seem angry. Then again, it’s so hard to tell what people are and aren’t. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sometimes I see the flash of a camera. Sometimes I see people holding up phones to try and record me.</p><p class="p1"><br/>My sisters do things in the garden outside- people are constantly pestering them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….my sisters do not talk to me. Not directly. No one does. I need to have others present.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….I do not know why. It is one of Father’s rules. As such, I follow it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Citizenship is of course restored.”</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Homes are nice and they always have been. I starting to prefer to think of myself as nomadic, though. These people are going through so much strife and anguish to keep me safe. I do not wish to cause them any more grief. When I can move, I will leave. I will leave because this is not <em>home.</em> There are too many eyes and too many questions.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I will never be worthy of the time or effort they are placing in me.<br/>I know that.</p><p class="p1">That is a simple thing to know.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“…what good will it do him??”</b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I am a citizen of nowhere. Just like all the other people who’ve been exiled- whether they did it or not. My home is where I make it. I have no people.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I am a nomad.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“This is his home.” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But this isn’t…home. Citizens are home. Where are my walls? Where is my home?</p><p class="p1">…where am I? Where do I go? I’ve no home. I’ve no walls.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…..I’ve barely even a voice left with to speak.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“I can personally speak on the behalf of the House of M that we will be closely working with and helping Akihiro in whatever way he should desire. My daughter, as you know, was on the team-“ </b>
</p><p class="p1"><b><br/></b>Teams are nothing. Teams are people who hate you. Teams are people who hurt you.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Why must everyone be friends with everyone else? It’s like being surrounded by thousands of people who hate you. In fact? It’s <em>exactly</em> like that.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">This man- the one who fields all of the ‘important’ questions? He’s <em>Lorna’s </em>father. Lorna was one of my teammates. One of the ones who turned my life into a living hell before I understood what that means. This man’s tie to his daughter gives him a tie to me. He seems awfully concerned about me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…it must be nice to have a father that cares that much.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My father couldn’t stand me years ago. He didn’t call me by my name- or even my codename. He couldn’t look at my face. He couldn’t see my eyes. My ‘home’ is in my father’s home. As such, I am careful to avert these spiteful features when he enters the room… Just so he is not uncomfortable about my presence in his dwelling.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I was under the impression that I would be free to wander as I so pleased…. But once they did some ‘tests’ they said it would most likely be for the best if I stayed with Father.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s Father’s home that has all these new places in it. Sideways- for example.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Father is very kind to me, I suppose. Much more than he used to be. He tries to talk to me about the trial- about my case. About my time in Hell. But I do not wish to make him feel badly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I apologize for the strife and thank him for his generosity. There’s no law saying he had to take me back. There’s no law saying that he had to come save me. There is no ruling saying that he has to spend all of his free time with me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….but he does. Maybe that makes this simple for him? Maybe he’s following the same advice I was given?<br/><br/><br/><b>“Tonight’s top story of Krakoa! The mistrial of the century! Some are calling it the greatest misdeed of our leaders. We’ve got the opinion of the five-“ </b></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Five. What good are five leaders when they all hate you? Every single one.</p><p class="p1">The five. That’s ten sets of eyes that couldn’t see.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>…why have eyes if you can't see, O5? </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <b>“Stay tuned! You won’t want to miss-“ </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I make a good story, don’t I? They do so love to put cameras in face.</p><p class="p1">…some of my actions are ‘odd’. Like my blanket. Or my feedings.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….I am an oddity. I speak like an oddity.</p><p class="p1">I am quiet. I am small.</p><p class="p1">…I am good.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">People around me are… perplexed. Some, I’d venture to say even enamored…? I sat at a breakfast table with some ‘important’ press peoples this morning. I did not eat. I do not eat.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I allowed them to talk, though. They had questions- I had no answers. I did enjoy sitting in the sunshine and listening to the waves, though. There are no waves in Hell.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Each step I take around Krakoa is one I was sure I would never take again. They’ve damaged the tendons to…. well, everything. So badly. Even when healed it’s painful for days after.<br/>Someone discussed ‘phantom’ pains with me. That maybe my insides were somehow still traumatized by the harsh conditions and harvesting that even though everything was now healthy again- the pain would still linger.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s not pain-pain, you see. It’s mental pain that becomes physical.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…that seems very possible to me. I really did find the constant harvesting torturous.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“We will work very carefully to ensure his safety. Everything is of course up to Akihiro himself. His recovery is and always has been our top priority.” </b>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">There’s their favorite word right there- recovery. How does one recover from being in Hell?</p><p class="p1">What will make me recoverable?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I was never supposed to leave. No one was ever supposed to leave.</p><p class="p1">…I ruined those guard’s lives.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">No one was supposed to be recoverable… but I was.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I was in the grate- in the coals- halfway burnt and mostly mad with pain… and then there were boots. They yanked me up. Forced me up. Threw me up on the OR table and starting slicing through the skin that was too damaged to heal properly. They screamed in my face. They forced hooks through my burnt shoulders… and then… they tell me I’m innocent.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Right there. On the table. With the hooks in my shoulders. I’m innocent.I am worth saving. They are going to come get me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But just because I am innocent…. Does that almost mean I’m salvageable?</p><p class="p1">Do I have worth? Do I have worth <em>here</em>?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….my organs do. I suppose that is why they want me then. Recoup costs. I can grow a heart three times in one day if timed right. A liver four. Lungs are about five hours- but those are big-ticket items. It’s hard to regrow those.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I am a universal blood type. My organs can go everywhere.</p><p class="p1">…sell them. Take them. Do what you will.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….that is my worth. My blood. My bones. My organs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“-will be returning to x-factor?” </b>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">No one ever really asks me- or asked me before- but I really did like that team. I thought my teammates were…. funny. Charming, even.I liked how close I thought we were.<br/>I liked watching Rachel grumpily walk Amazing Baby at 3 AM while he did everything but piss. I liked watching David try and figure out new things. I liked watching Jeanne- Marie and Jean-Paul enjoy being twins. I enjoyed talking with Lorna…. Even watching Trevor run around playing stupid games. I thought Kyle was a very sweet person.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….this is to say…I Liked them. I liked them and I thought they liked me.</p><p class="p1">…but I was wrong. And they didn’t.</p><p class="p1"><br/>They did not listen.</p><p class="p1">No one did.</p><p class="p1">Just like my father. Just like my sisters. Just like the Five.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Now I stand in the wake of questions that I cannot respond to. There are just such strange words and notions flying around.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I am on a stage in front of thousands…. But I can’t say a word. Like my trial. No matter how hard I tried… they wouldn’t let me speak.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">In the last few years…. No one has let me speak.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…what good is a voice if no one listens to it?</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <b>“Not anytime soon.” </b>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">I was an x-man. (Technically). I helped solve cases. I reunited the lost. I helped restore life where it had been taken. I went through every hoop and over every hurdle. I tracked and tracked and tracked and I fought and I fought and I fought.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But when the time came for someone to fight for me…. There was no one to be found.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Mongrels do not make good pets.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Old dogs.Old Mutts. Stupid mutt.</p><p class="p1">Mongrels.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…..No one fights for a mangey stray.</p><p class="p1"><br/>Father wouldn’t address me even as “Daken”. No. Calling me ‘mongrel’ was a crime against actual Mongrels.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So…I am O5. That is my case number. That is the number by which all my deeds are labeled.<br/><br/>That is the name by which they will judge me from now until eternity. Even though I didn’t do it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>And I told them. And I told them… and I told them. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My ‘crime' was <em>bullshit</em>. It was a <em>lie.</em></p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">I didn’t know him personally. I didn’t <em>like</em> him. I <em>refused </em>to go out with him. I refused to chat. I wouldn’t text or message. He kept badgering me. Over and over. And then he followed me. And he followed me. He knew where I was. He knew where my friends were- who my friends were.</p><p class="p1">He knew who my sisters were. He knew who my boyfriend was.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…and he followed. Like a shadow. Always behind me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He saw me in <em>every </em>stage of my days. He was in my home when I wasn’t. He was in the crowd at press meetings. He made friends with my team. I would come to join them and there he would be. I had to leave- I couldn’t stand him. Those large eyes and that charming smile.<br/>it burned me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>…His skin is acidic. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">And then-<em> I</em> ‘hurt’ him. But<em> I </em>didn’t.</p><p class="p1">I was at the crime scene because I was supposed to be meeting the man I was with for some sort of date. He’d been cold to me and I was hoping that maybe….I don’t know… I could have done something to change his mind. But my boyfriend wasn’t there. It was <em>him. </em>He was aggressive. I just kept asking him why he was there- where my boyfriend was. He said my boyfriend was fine- he’d just left him, in fact. In his own bedroom. Tied to the headboard.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I really liked my boyfriend. I was crushed.</p><p class="p1"><br/>But I was not moved to violence. I was just sad. I was lonely. I was depressed. I could not understand why this man hated me as he did. Or why he made everyone else hate me too.<br/>No matter what I did - I was wrong. If I said something out of turn- it was the stupidest thing ever muttered. If I dropped something- I was useless.Anytime I was mistaken on anything- I was lying.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I was given no room for errors.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I told him that I would just leave. That he could have a good life with my boyfriend. Well, ex, I suppose.</p><p class="p1"><br/>That’s not what he wanted though. He wanted a fight. I didn’t. I didn’t want to fight him.<br/>I just wanted to go curl up and pretend as if the last two years of my life were not as they were.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It didn’t matter if I didn’t want to fight- he did. And he always got his way.</p><p class="p1">The thing they don’t realize- or didn’t- was that he was very strong. Both physically and with persuasion abilities. He always made people think he was smaller and weaker than he was.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…he could backhand me hard enough to send me to the floor with very little effort.</p><p class="p1">…but that’s not what he wanted. He beat me with a pipe- then a few knives.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He offered midway through to just fuck me and call it square.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I said ‘no’. I did not have any sort of romantic and lustful inclination to that man. I was bleeding and my body was screaming from so many different things….</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But that’s not what we wanted either. And as such things tend to go…. He got what he wanted.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The blood was mine.</p><p class="p1">The semen was his.</p><p class="p1">The bat was his.</p><p class="p1">The crowbar was his.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The vomit was mine.</p><p class="p1">The clothing was mine.</p><p class="p1">The blood- the teeth- the broken fingernails… those were mine.</p><p class="p1"><br/>He didn’t stop. For hours- it felt like. Maybe I laid still because I couldn’t fathom what to do otherwise.</p><p class="p1">…my life was hell, but If I hurt him- if I struck back- I’d lose it all...and I was stupid. I didn’t want to lose it. Everyone hated me…but Krakoa was still the best thing I’d ever witnessed. I didn’t want to do anything to fuck it up.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The crime scene was muddy with blood- my blood. The ‘evidence’ on the floor was easy to decipher. My nails were black- you see. I like to paint my nails. His weren’t- he preferred clear nails. The broken nails on the floor were black. They took them as evidence and then dropped the bag in the trash- I saw them.</p><p class="p1">They took pictures of me and then deleted them. I saw them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">No one trusted me. No one believed me.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I was coated in blood and bruises and …. Other things… and they didn’t believe me.<br/><br/>They knew he followed. They knew he stalked. I had messages- they said I faked them. I had pictures- they said I doctored them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">No one would say anything nice to me. Or even just civil. Everyone pointed out every single thing that was wrong with me- over and over and over.<br/><br/>And there he was. Smiling. Brave.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…and as I sat in this shitty little hospital examination room….I was told that I was being tried for <em>his</em> assault.<br/><br/><b>HIS.</b></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…but the blood was mine. The nails were mine. The vomit was mine.</p><p class="p1">The semen was not.<br/>The bat was not.<br/>The crowbar was not.<br/>The knives were not.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">From that day on, my voice has been completely useless. Futile, even. And it will remain to be for so long as I live…because I will never be able to go back and save myself from that moment. I will never have a strong enough case to stop it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…he sent me a message. No one knows. But he did. Thanked me for a good game. Said I’d been a real good sport.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“What should we do in ways of restoration?” </b>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">I find it funny how people assume that money can heal everything. What could it possibly do for me now? I could have buckets of it and still feel just as awful as I do at this very moment.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>…you should go outside. Feel the air. Feel the sun. </em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">Those are my father’s requests and suggestions, usually.He stays nearby no matter where I go. He thinks that healing is a rather slow process- One that he’s not going to force me through any faster than I’d like to go.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…still, he says the air will do me some good. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“What should we do to better our judicial system?” </b>
</p><p class="p1"><b><br/></b>Personally? I would maybe try having a better system in place to catch scammers.</p><p class="p1">…but what do I know? I’m just the lunatic in the window- staring and watching.</p><p class="p1"><br/>News spreads- and the crowds enlarge. I do not know what they want… but I do not want them to come any closer.</p><p class="p1"><br/>Krakoa seems to have a rising number of self-identified ‘members of the press’. So they gain access to my father’s home and they try to get me to answer questions. They tell me to answer questions…I am hesitant to do so. See, you don’t need to be spreading lies or distrusts amongst good and honest people.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I don’t want to stir any pots.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I tell them what little I can as I watch them record my response in writing, in audio, in video.</p><p class="p1">I try talking about things I know. Things in the house. Birds. Waves. The trees.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….that’s why they think me odd.I go out of my way to be as good as I can be… which means not upsetting anyone. These people do not like having to jump through all of these hoops for an interview in which I will only discuss such simple-minded and surface-level thoughts.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…they leave mad. I fail. I always feel awful when they leave mad.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Some people work in my father’s home that are NOT press members. They just… help. They take my vitals. They take my blood samples. They talk to me in ways I’ve not been spoken to in years…this is so far from <em>down</em> that I don’t know how to respond.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I’m scrubbed down nightly. They help me dress in warm and clean clothes…. They put me to bed on a soft mattress underneath the moonlight that shines through my large overhead ceiling windows- something pretty to look at it, is what Father said. For when I can’t sleep.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Where exactly are you keeping him? </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They keep me inside. Inside the room that’s inside the house that’s inside the tree.</p><p class="p1">I have large windows in my ceiling. I see the moon. The moon seems not to care that I stare.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I’m glad. Because on rough nights… I feel as if that glow is all I have.</p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Can we interview him?” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Why? You don’t want me to speak…no one wants to know what I have to say.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">All they do is pose questions and then answer them for me.</p><p class="p1">‘IS he happy’ ‘Why of course he is! Happy, healing, and oh so safe.’</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…why wouldn’t I be?</p><p class="p1">
  <b><br/>“Can we get an update?” </b>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">…update?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…..Update?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Oh! I have one. The crowd outside the window grows larger by the hour. I don’t know what they want and find it anxiety-inducing to see their masses. I draw the blackout shades- shutting out the outside world entirely. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There are too many eyes and I do not want to be seen…what’s the point of having so many if you can’t see?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Insider information says he hasn’t spoken of his trial. Why hasn’t he said anything?” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Why would I? They beat you for things like that.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There is no white line to follow. There are no screams to heed. Just eyes and faces and questions. Somehow…. Hell felt safer.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I feel as if I’m just waiting to say the wrong thing and be dragged off again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….what comes after Hell?</p><p class="p1">What if Father becomes annoyed and thinks of somewhere worse?</p><p class="p1">What if they try me again…. And I don’t have any evidence?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">What if Father becomes upset and has me sent away? What if he has me sent away and I never get to come back? </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Is the five demanding him silenced? Is he even alive?” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">How do you know if you’re alive?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…and what happens when you don’t want to be?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They screamed at me for years about how suicide was for the weak. Calling me cruel minded and childish for expressing such wants. Saying that I didn’t have the right to say such things. That it was just attention-seeking behavior.<br/><br/>How could I laugh in the face of all of those poor struggling people???</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….but I meant it. And I think I still do at times.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <b>“Is he alive?” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I speak. I breathe. Is that enough?</p><p class="p1">I move. I swallow. I blink.</p><p class="p1">I respond. I obey.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….is that enough?</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <b>“Why can’t we see him?” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I’m not fit for human consumption. My face angers others…I stay inside.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Waves upon waves of people’s hatred digging into the back of my skull… I can still feel it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I do not wish to be hated. I do not wish to be unliked.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I just want to be left alone.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Yet the crowd grows. The press pushes further. The investigations start to get underfoot.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I just want to be alone.<br/>I don’t want to be seen.<br/>I don’t want to hurt.<br/>I don’t want anyone to get hurt.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…why does the crowd grow?<br/>Will it ever stop? How big must it get?</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <b>“Why doesn’t he speak?” </b>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Because you don’t listen. <em> Because no one listens. </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….these questions they are asking as of late are not up questions. <em>These…? </em>These are down.</p><p class="p1">Downer then down. The downest. So far down that I’ll never see the light of day again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I can take the blindfold off- but it doesn’t help. I still feel blind.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Up. <em>I haven’t been up in days.</em></p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">It’s only been a week and a half at most… but I feel this tiredness in every cell of my body.<br/>I keep track of time well. It is my job…. And it’s not been very long at all.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">These questions are on the TV. The phones. The internet.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…my keepers let me listen. I always listen. Listening is my job.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It’s become clear to me that people don’t understand the very <em>simple </em>system of up and down.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">They don’t understand the importance of knowing where you are at all times…if you’re not paying attention, you can be thrown face-first into the coals. If you fall between the walkway and the grate you will burn alive. Slowly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…only the rules have changed now. We’re not in ‘Hell’ Hell. We’re in ‘civilized’ Hell.<br/>The difference is that violence cannot be done outright in Civilized Hell.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So… things change.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>There are no burns anymore. Burns aren’t a thing here. </em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Cuts aren’t a thing here- not by their hands, at any rate. </em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Maggots aren’t a thing here- at least no more than the natural amount you’d find in any other environment. </em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Rats aren’t a thing here- except for the same reason as above. </em>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Mites are not a thing here- except for the same reason as above (above)</em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Things were simple in Hell. Things were very easy to understand… hot, painful, and deadly. Very straightforward.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But on Krakoa- that is to say, here- I don’t know anything works. I don’t know this down down down. Maybe I did once. Maybe I pretended I did…Maybe I even excelled at it. But now?</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <em>This is down. This is lower than hell. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….Hell now comes with questions and cameras. Microphones. Recorders.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The door to my room is always open. I hear everything. Like my keepers- they are very kind and it’s very unsettling.</p><p class="p1"><br/>All of this settles within me as I rise for another confusing day. I am in my bed- the blankets are clean and dry- which is an accomplishment I am glad to accept granted just how awful my nightmares were last night.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As I slowly gather myself to consciousness I hear Father enter my bedroom. (Well- he’s bedroom, I assume. It is his house, after all. I just live here.)</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Father joins me as I wake- right on time. Just as he has every morning for the last week.</p><p class="p1"><br/>His demeanor is… chipper. Friendly. He smiles and I see no mockery in it. “Hey, kiddo!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">This isn’t my name. I’m no one’s ‘kiddo’. It makes him feel better to call me this, though.</p><p class="p1">…it’s still not my name. (<em>My father still refuses to use my name.)</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Good morning!”</p><p class="p1"><br/>Yes. It is morning. Good or bad I’ve yet to decide…. But morning- yes, that is true.</p><p class="p1">…should that be a talking point for this conversation?</p><p class="p1">…should I tell him about how good the morning is? Or how lucky I am to have him visit me?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…should I ask him anything even slightly important?</p><p class="p1">…what important things do I even have to ask?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Are you hungry?”</p><p class="p1"><br/>Oh. Well… he’s moving down his usual list pretty quickly this morning.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">So….Uh…I….am I? This one always throws me. It’s been so long since I was regularly eating that I don’t know when the hunger is to the extreme level of ‘feed me’.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I suppose the best course of action would be to decide if Father and the others have eaten yet. If they’ve eaten, I can gladly take up the scraps. I’d hate to take food from their mouths though.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It’s okay if you’re not.” He says, tone solid and filled to the brim with understanding. Father’s tone is… not old, but not young. It’s weathered.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….. I wonder how much guilt he feels just looking at me. I should be leaving soon. I should not overstay my welcome. It’s the only way to repay him for his kindness. Father has my siblings to care for. Things would be much easier around here if I just up and disappear.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I open my eyes- wincing at the sunlight- and stare upon the wall of screens that surround the head of my bed. Green ones with lines and blips. They use them to monitor me at night. My organs haven’t grown back just right- some kind of unforeseen issue. I have issues with them. It’s quite painful.Father watches the screens to ensure that I stay alive.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….and this means that for him, I am good.</p><p class="p1">If I were bad, he would not care. If I were bad, he’d have them pulled out by the dozens.</p><p class="p1">I’m literally a walking bank. organs. Blood. Tissues.</p><p class="p1">…my worth is monetary. Now when will he use it?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Looks like you got some good sleep, huh?” He places his hands in the pockets of his jeans- carefully observing the screens. “You have any issues with pain?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Yes. Last night was excruciating. I sobbed for hours. But I shake my head. He will never have to know.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…When in Hell, you learn to sob quietly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Here.” A small clear tube is pushed past my lips- this is food…. I think. It startles me just slightly but it does not hurt. “Sorry,” Father says quickly. “Shoved that in a little fast for just having woke up, huh?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He likes to laugh and joke- trying to keep it light when dealing with me.</p><p class="p1">…I do not know how to play along.</p><p class="p1"><br/>The tube at my lips is pushed ever so slightly further in. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Away from the heat and steam of Hell, my lips aren’t cracked anymore. They do not bleed when I chew or talk… when I swallow things, I no longer taste blood. They even removed the bits of thread and wire that have been left behind by the skilled hands of the men and women who have sewn them shut for all of these years.<br/><br/>These feeding tubes are used for quick feedings. Quick deposits, really. The tubes are reminiscent of glow sticks. The kind you’d find at a rave. They’re thick, though, depending on what they hold. Mostly, you’ll find them filled with sweet things. They are supposed to be given to steady a patient. So boosts for blood sugar…. Or an easy way to get medication swallowed.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…sometimes, it’s even for actual feeding. Those tubes are connected to other things, though. Father will give them to me and keep his hand on the one in my mouth- forcing me to ‘eat’ the whole thing.</p><p class="p1">…it’s not terrible. It doesn’t hurt.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Sometimes, it’s almost like Sugar. I like sugar. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Water, too. Water is important.</p><p class="p1">I know this because I was in hell. Water was not a thing in hell. Not for me. It was given maybe once a week- just a handful.</p><p class="p1">Water is something I like. I do not fight the tube.</p><p class="p1">…I do not fight anything.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The ointments. The soaps. The bandages. I am good.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">It becomes clear to me when Father doesn’t remove his hand that this is indeed a ‘breakfast’ tube. It takes me an entire ten minutes to finish. What a long time for a meal! This is 9 minutes too long. I would be fine with just a little- just a little is all that is needed. But… my keepers like me to eat as much as I can stomach.<br/><br/>“That’s good.” He says, removing the tube. “That’ll get you started.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…yes. I do feel more awake than I did.</p><p class="p1"><br/>“Thank you.”</p><p class="p1"><br/>He nods. “No problem. So I went ahead and got you some clothes here. Out and about stuff.” He says. “You think you’d like to take another walk around today? I know our last one didn’t go too well….”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">No. I didn’t.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“But don’t you think you’d like to go see something other than your bedroom wall? Just for today?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…no. I will not be walking today. The crowd outside grows.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I think that walls are safe,” I murmur, swallowing the after taste of the tube.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…yea, I know. But outside can be safe too.” Father says. “And fun. Bout time you had some fun, ain’t it?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I do not find outside to be safe,” I say quietly. “Or fun.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Too many eyes. Too many disappointed faces.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He sighs, patting my shoulder. “Hey, here’s another thought, then.Your sisters want to see you again. You up for a visit? Maybe around lunchtime?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My sisters have moved to another compartment. They stay away from me until invited over.</p><p class="p1">…I am sorry to have uprooted them so.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I do not argue.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes sir.”</p><p class="p1"><br/>I will do as I am told.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Do you mean that?”<br/><br/>“Yes sir.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">This is what it means to be obedient. And obedience is good. And if you are good, you will not go down to the heat and the steam and the coals.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Sir?” He laughs.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I nod.<br/><br/>“Really? ‘Sir’?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Yes. Sir. That is a title of respect.</p><p class="p1"><br/>My father takes a seat beside me on the mattress. “Akihiro… do you know who I am?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s used my name…my name.</p><p class="p1">He said my name. He said my name. He never says my name. He’s never said my name.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…no kiddo. No 05. No ‘you’. No ‘boy’.</p><p class="p1">Me. He said <em>me.</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You do know who I am, don’t you?” He asks again.<br/><br/>Yes. I do. I do not describe others- not even to myself. It’s rude, you know. Pointing out physical characteristics- even if they’re positive.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I’d hate for someone to feel as I did. As I do. To be so hated and so… ugly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…you lead the house. I follow. I am happy to follow.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I try to be diplomatic. 1a always dies first. I will not be a 1a here.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“No. I don’t ‘lead’. Everyone just listens because I’m loud.” He chuckles. “You know who I am.” He says. “I know you do.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Yes. I know who my own father is. The only man who’d think to keep me as he is.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes. I know who you are, Father.” I say, keeping my eyes averted. He doesn’t like them, I must use them sparingly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Father has a name… but a title is better. It shows that I am respectful by not using his name and still honor his familial attachment to me. Father is a better man than he once was. He’s opened his home to me over the last week. It’s very kind of him. When I can leave, I will be in his debt for caring as much as he has.<br/><br/>….no one needs to make this big of a fuss over me. Why would they?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I lost my trial. I was convicted. I couldn’t even save myself. For years people have screamed in my face and told me how awful I am. I slept to the sickening comfort that comes from bleeding wounds and blood loss.<br/><br/>I listened as everyone I knew died. Over and over again. Why would anyone want to hear me say anything at all?</p><p class="p1">“Good.” He pats my shoulder. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>(Up).<br/>(up.)</em>
</p><p class="p1">(<em>Up</em>.)</p><p class="p1"><br/>“So like I was saying, Gabby wants to stay the weekend. I told her I’d ask you.”Father says this as if it’s something easy.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….I can’t. I can’t do that. I can’t put Gabby around someone like myself. I’m not a person worth knowing. My little sister deserves to know the best and be known by the best. The stronger she associates with me- the more damage I’ll do…. Even though I don’t want to.</p><p class="p1"><br/>My name is a curse. A relationship with me will be the bullet in the head of any promising career on Krakoa.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ms. Kinney is free to do as she wishes,” I answer numbly. “I will obey.”</p><p class="p1">I use her surname. I use her surname so I can grant her a way to extract her name from my own.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I have been told to behave. </p><p class="p1"><br/>I will obey.<br/><br/>I love my sisters deeply…. But I do not expect them to return the favor. I’m sure this situation has taken a great toll on them.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Father sighs deeply. “<em>Gabby.</em>” He says. “Her name is <em>Gabby. </em>She doesn’t like to hear you call her ‘Ms. Kinney’. She’s <em>Gabby</em>- your little sister. And she misses you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…why? Why should someone miss me?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…who would even think to?<br/><br/>“I am sorry to cause grief.” Is all I can think to say.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…see the damage I do to everyone around me? See the evil that drips off of my actions before I even have time to make them?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…why am I here? This is no place for me.</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <em>Hell was easier. </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“She misses her big brother.” Father continues. “I think she’s worried she’ll never see him again.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Yes. I know. No one will ever see that old person again.</p><p class="p1">He’s dead. He’s dead a million times over.</p><p class="p1">He’s dead but I am not…. Because I was good.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…I am sorry to cause grief,” I repeat, turning onto my other side- away from him. “I will accept your fury.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I’m expecting a slap. Maybe a punch? Maybe just a hard kick to the back of my knees?</p><p class="p1">Fury is easy to accept. Much easier than some of these new notions.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Father’s breathing hitches- as if that’s the very last thing he wanted to hear. “No fury here, son.” He says, adjusting my blankets over me. “You take your time, alright? I’ll tell Gabby to come back later.” He pats my shoulder one good time. “Take it easy this morning, alright? Get some rest. Call me if you need anything.” He’s careful to stand to his feet and leave deliberately and peacefully- trying to convey that everything is alright and he is not angry, I assume. </p><p class="p1">This is not <em>up</em>. This is not <em>down</em>. This is <em>lower</em> than down.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">A full city of people who can’t understand the very simple principles.<br/><br/>I’m not ‘kiddo’. I’m not ‘son’. I’m not ‘brother’.</p><p class="p1">…I am me. I am O5. And I haven’t been anything other than O5 in years.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">… I don’t know how to be anything else.<br/><br/>These people… are so odd. They smile. They laugh. They joke. They move so carelessly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….why?</p><p class="p1">…how?</p><p class="p1"><br/>I’m afraid to stand because I fear burns. I’m afraid to walk because I fear the steam.<br/>I’m afraid to move because I do not want to feel the heat.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But they just don’t care. How can they so carelessly throw all caution to the wind?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Why do I ever do anything at all?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Father is busy now. In his stead, one of the important members of his community joins me. A man with white hair- wearing a cape and a helmet- which he removes coming into my room.</p><p class="p1">This is Lorna’s father- the man who answers the questions. Magneto. Erik. Whichever.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em>He worries me. </em><br/><br/>“Ah. You’re awake. Wonderful.” He smiles and all I can think about for some reason is scorpions. His face is old- weathered- but not unattractive. I see very few similarities between him and his daughter, though. Or more so, how I remember her looking. Obviously, I’ve not seen her.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I sit up in my bed, granting him my full attention and thus all the respect he desires.</p><p class="p1">I allow him to know that he can take whatever he desires without saying a word.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I am good. I behave. (maybe if I’m lucky, he’ll only want the liver.)</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry to bother you at this early hour, but I have some questions to ask you.” He says. “if you’d be so kind as to answer.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">His tone is pleasant but firm. It is obvious that even if I had wanted to, saying ‘no’ is not an option.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Luckily for the both of us, I am not going to be bad today.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I am pleased to do anything you should desire,” I say- feeling as if there’s a strange undercurrent of power here…. One I don’t understand. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Maybe this is just how he acts with everyone?<br/><br/>“Wonderful.” The man says again- raising his hand and summoning the metal chair by the window to him- placing it beside my bed and taking a seat. I go to rise but he stops me. “No, dear boy. Stay seated. I’m not here to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…thank you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The chair morphs around him- where it was once simple, it is now complicated. He’s summoned forth both a headrest and some far more supportive arms- coming from the fact that it was previously just a run of the mill metal folding chair, I’m quite impressed.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“But of course.” He nods. “Now, Akihiro, I’d like to start by asking about your recovery. How would you say that’s going?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…hmm. My…Recovery?It’s only been a few days shy of a week and a half- maybe- but…it’s… it’s probably best not to anger him. He was at my trial, after all. I remember him quite well. I don’t want him to become spiteful again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Besides- I have to be good. I told myself I would be the best. I have to.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Here is probably not the time to be ‘simple’. I’ll use bigger words. I’ll be more distinct.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I take a breath. “I have been given more support than I ever thought possible,” I say- giving him and his people the praise they deserve. “I sincerely thank you.”</p><p class="p1"><br/>I praise him. I keep him happy. I keep him seated.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I keep safe.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I do not die.</p><p class="p1"><br/>He does not return my pleasantries- but I did not expect him to. Instead, he pushes forward.<br/>“It’s been about a week since your release and subsequent return to your home Krakoa. Would you say that the health care we’ve provided is of the highest standard?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I noticed that he has no notebook. No recording device.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….is this an interview?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He watches me for a long second before adding, “You may speak freely. No one is going to be in any sort of trouble. I’d just like to know if the health care you’re receiving is of a proper level in response to your needs.”</p><p class="p1"><br/>He smiles like a shark…like a snake.</p><p class="p1">If he were an animal- he would hiss.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">However… at the moment, it sounds like he just wants to know if he and his people have done a good job. That’s no big deal at all. He wants praise.</p><p class="p1"><br/>“Yes. The quality of healthcare I’ve received is very high.” I nod. “Thank you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He returns my nod. “Right. Would you agree that you’ve been made very comfortable?”</p><p class="p1"><br/>Yes. Anything is better than down. Even if I don’t understand it.</p><p class="p1"><br/>“I am very comfortable.” I nod. “Thank you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Of course you are.” He tents his fingers in front of him. “Now, Akihiro, if you don’t mind, I would like to take you to see some friends of mine. They are very interested in your recovery and would very much like to hear your story from start to finish. They are seeking to better understand the … negative effect humans can have on mutants. Can we agree that you were very negatively affected by a certain group of humans?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…what?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I am very comfortable…. here.” I try to play it off again. I repeat my answer from before- hoping it will work a second time.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes, but I wasn’t asking if you were comfortable.” He says. “I was asking if you and I could agree that the humans have had a very negative and unfounded effect on your life and wellbeing.”<br/><br/>Oh. Um…. How do I praise both parties if one so obviously thinks the other is in the wrong?</p><p class="p1">…The humans… worked…. With ….</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">This is confusing. The humans hurt me greatly- yes. But they also let me go. The mutants sent me to the humans… but they also brought me back.</p><p class="p1">They… are… both…</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….wrong?</p><p class="p1"><br/>No. I can’t say that. He doesn’t want to hear that. And if I say it about the humans, they’re sure to get upset as well.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I don’t want to make them mad in case father sends me back.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I- was-“ I stop- truly baffled trying to decide what I should say. “I’m… sorry. I do not understand the question.”</p><p class="p1"><br/>That’s an easy answer- right? To claim ignorance?</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Apologies, child. I’m not taking into account your… <em>damage</em>. It’s quite careless of me. What I mean to ask is if you think you were negatively affected in the long term while you were kept in the Inferno by the humans who kept you there?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But…. You sent me there. They did what they do because you told them to do it.</p><p class="p1">…you all did.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">No one listened to me.</p><p class="p1">The blood was mine. The semen was not. The nails were mine. The crowbar was not.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I didn’t drown any of the 1 A’s. I didn’t kill my children. I didn’t lose a baby. I didn’t push anyone into the coals. I kept my head down. I followed the line. I paid for the crimes… that the… other mutants insisted I did.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…no one is right. No one is just. There were no winners here.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…the humans were very thorough,” I say after a loud gulp- perhaps louder than I should have made. “They were very skilled in what they thought was the correct course of action. I am happy they let me go.”</p><p class="p1"><br/>That’s as diplomatic as I can make that sound.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The man’s thin lips draw into a tight line of disproval. “Yes, I understand your reasoning for saying so as to not rock the boat, as it were….” He leans forward. “But Akihiro, what I’m really trying to ask here is if you personally- in your own mind- think that perhaps the humans should not have been able to do that to you at all?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…they shouldn’t do that to anyone. Ever. No one should. I wish they’d just put bullets into my skull. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“….They … can do as they please. As is anyone. I am not allowed to refuse.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The man looks slightly cross, pursing his lips. “The damage that’s been done to your mind is sickening.” He says callously. “You’re barely there at all. Almost to the point of <em>uselessness</em>. Just an innocent little mind-wiped robot, aren’t you?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Oh. Useless. Well… I suppose. It’s not the first or last time I’ll hear it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’m sorry…. I do not mean to be useless.” I lower my eyes to my lap- honestly trying to contain some tears I was not aware I was close to shedding. “What can I do to fix it?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You can fix it by telling me what they did to you. Now. Tell me that you wish to seek retribution- tell me you want their heads.” Erik doesn’t ask this of me- he demands it.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">But…. All I’m thinking of is the fact that the humans didn’t do this on their own. The mutants hated me just as much-if not more.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I can’t stop my tears- I feel my stomach churn and ache and have no greater desire than to turn my head away from this man so I can save what little face I have.</p><p class="p1"><br/>“Look at me, boy.” Erick hisses, snapping his fingers in my face. “LOOK.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">My eyes are drawn to his- his angry and wild eyes surrounded by the wrinkles of age.</p><p class="p1"><br/>“Tell me you want the human's heads.” He orders.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I-“<br/><br/>“Say it!”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….oh fuck. I can’t stop myself. “I’m sorry…but I think…they need their heads.”</p><p class="p1"><br/>The man looks at me with what can only be described as pure disgust.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“They’re human.” I continue. “…they can’t function like we do.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He does not look happy.</p><p class="p1">In fact- I’m starting to worry for my own safety at this moment. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I am sorry-“<br/><br/>“Yes, you really are, aren’t you?” The man spits venomously, cutting me off. “Can’t stand up for your own people!!!!You’re too <em>cowardly </em>and afraid of upsetting those monsters who-“<br/><br/><br/>“Erik!” My head snaps in the direction of the loud voice coming through the doorway. “I believe that’s enough.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">This new man- this new voice- is my savior of the morning. Someone come to pull my stupidness out of whatever fresh Hell I’ve managed to pop myself into.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s my father’s lover. Teammate. Best Friend. Co-Captain. Fiancé, maybe? I was not really informed. He makes a convincingly real threat in the doorway. The lights in the home aren’t completely all lit yet. The shadows behind him blending the darkness of his blue skin. He looks frightening. Like a devil. Tail, fangs, and glowing eyes included.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Kurt.” Erik turns away from me to him. “I’m sorry. I did not know you were…. in. I hope I haven’t woken you.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Kurt lives here. I know that if I know that- Erik knows that. I think it makes him uncomfortable.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“My comfort is of little bearing in this altercation, I believe.” He looks over to me, “Are you alright, Akihiro?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He uses my name… but then again, he always has at least attempted to.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes,” I answer weakly. “I just… didn’t answer the question right.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I see.” Kurt turns his attention to Erik once more. “And what question were you trying to ask, Erik?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I suppose little bits and pieces of everything,” Erik says smoothly. “It’s early for the both of us and I think… well, unfortunately, I’ve become a little carried away.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“We try our best not to scream at or otherwise insult Akihiro in any way shape or form.” Kurt says. “it frightens him greatly. You can understand why allowing yourself to be ‘carried away’ by such a strong emotional outburst is ill-advised.” </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Kurt and Eric are originally around the same parts, I believe. Decades between them, of course. But the same general areas of Europe. Kurt’s younger- he’s been in the US shorter than Erik has. He still maintains a full accent whereas Erik’s is completely hidden underneath the entanglement of accents and dialects he’s collected over his many travels.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I am truly sorry,” Erik says. “But you see, I’m quite passionate about Akihiro’s case-“<br/><br/>“As are we all.” Kurt interrupts.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“And I just want to make sure he understands-“<br/><br/>“As we all do.” Kurt cuts him again- making it clear to everyone in this room that Erik is NOT calling the shots here. Kurt may not really seem ‘boiling with rage’ at the moment- but he smells it.<br/><br/>He is NOT happy that Erik is here.<br/>I don’t know if that’s because this is where Kurt lives and Erik wasn’t invited… or if it’s because Erik’s come into my room to bother me- but it doesn’t matter.<br/><br/>This man is quickly learning that he has now overstayed his welcome.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes, well I was around and thought I’d stop in and see him for myself,” Erik says, a little faster than before in speech pattern as if afraid that Kurt was going to cut him off again. “And again, I’m quite sorry. I was just checking in.” He says with a forced porcelain smile.</p><p class="p1">“We are touched and appreciative of your effort and good intent as always, Erik. But unfortunately, as Akihiro’s condition becomes more readily available for treatment, we’re having to start scheduling when he can speak with and whom. Especially unaccompanied. I believe you and Logan have already had this discussion a few days ago, ja?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Erik nods. “Ah see? There is our mix up. I was not aware that his time was to be scheduled. I thought it would be fine to make an unprompted house call without knowing the new rules.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes, well if you were to have called Logan until waiting for him to have left on other business for the day, I’m sure he would have gladly told you,” Kurt says this matter-of-factly. Bluntly, even. “If you were to have forgotten Logan’s number, I’m decently sure my mother could have given you mine- seeing as I also live here and have a hand in Akihiro’s care.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….so he does. I mean, I knew he helped. But that sounds like more than ‘normal’ help. That’s like…. I don’t know.</p><p class="p1">My head hurts.<br/>It’s best not to ask.</p><p class="p1"><br/>I sit quietly- trying to keep my curiosity from spiking.<br/><br/>This? This is a play. This is a dance. It’s deadly and it’s sharp and it’s loud…. But it’s hidden.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’ll remember to call ahead next time.” Erik nods in agreement. “I apologize for any upsets.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“It is not I who needs the apology,” Kurt says firmly.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I am sorry to have … frightened you, Akihiro,” Erik says, turning to me. “I hope you realize that you are going to be safe and cared for here on Krakoa among the mutants who love and cherish you. We wait to welcome you back to us with open arms and bated breath.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I don’t know how to respond to that. Kurt once again grabs the situation before it can do any more harm to me.<br/><br/>“Yes, Erik, thank you. that’s very lovely.” Kurt says, walking through the door and to my bed- sitting down beside my right hand which moves him over to Erik as well. “I am truly sorry to rush this along,” Kurt looks down at me while speaking to him, “But Akihiro needs his medication. Logan’s asked that I make sure he has it. While we’ve nothing to hide…. Akihiro is very modest when it comes to his medication.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">He’s… right. I do not like that…but I’ve also just been given some.<br/><br/>“I understand completely,” Erik says, standing to his feet. “Have a wonderful day, Dak-“ he stops. “Akihiro. I do so hope you feel better.” Erik pauses by the door, glancing back over his shoulder.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Yes?” Kurt asks, not even bothering to really look at the man.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You’re growing into your mother, Kurt. Have you realized it?”Erik asks, tone almost frigid.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Kurt takes a slightly more comfortable position on the side of the bed. “Is that what you think?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“I’d bet my own powers on you becoming just as she is. Right down to that very smirk you’re currently wearing.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Ah. The smirk is genetic. The mindset is not.” Kurt chuckles. “As far as I’m concerned, Raven and I couldn’t be more different. Her motives when it came to things of love and power and family were…. Questionable at best and dastardly at worst. I’m striving to be the complete opposite. I aim for full transparency. I love my partner and I love his family. I will do what I can to keep his family -our family- safe. Akihiro, whether you and yours like to admit it- is part of this family. If you come around meaning to hurt him, I will stop you. I will stop just the same as I would if you were to come against Gabby or Laura. This house has suffered enough.” He glances at me. “He has suffered enough. We will not stand idly by and let the unchecked wants or agendas of others put him in harm's way again.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I like that interaction a lot- I do.</p><p class="p1">…but I really have to piss and I’m scared to move. </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Erik just nods. “You make a fair point that I’ll be sure to keep in mind, Wager.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“You do that,” Kurt says with a nod.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Good day to you both.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Erik leaves in a huff- a ‘dignified huff’… but a huff- cape twirl and all.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">As he’s leaving I hear Kurt mutter something quite nasty under his breath. He pulls a phone out of his pocket and starts texting some person or another, not really moving but not being imposing either. After a long moment, he glances down at me. “Your father doesn’t really want to medicate you.” He says. “You can do what you like. I just wanted Erik to leave you in peace.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">….</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…why?”</p><p class="p1"><br/>Kurt pauses before saying, “Why what?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I swallow a few times to find my outside voice. “Why did you come stop him?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Because I didn’t want him screaming at you,” Kurt says simply.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“Why?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…because I do not like to see people I care about screamed at.” He says simply. “I would not worry about Erik though, Akihiro. Your father and I are handling it. There’s no need to stress.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">That’s a statement I did not expect to hear.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I let myself sit on it for a moment before asking, “Kurt?… will I have to go back?”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">I ask weakly- fearfully.<br/><br/>“No. Never.” He says firmly- and quickly. “Don’t waste any time or energy into thinking like that. It will never happen.”<br/><br/>“…never?”<br/><br/>“Never. We won’t allow it.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">The way he says that makes me believe him. The fear that’s become so heavy during this interlude tires me. I quietly lay back down and easily find some peaceful rest.<br/><br/>As I’m leaving the world of the waking, I hear Father at the door as Kurt joins him.<br/><br/>“Please tell me you didn’t threaten Magneto.” He’s laughing.</p><p class="p1"><br/>“I did. And I’ll do it again.” Kurt chuckles again.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">There’s the sound of a kiss- I think. “You’re insane if you think he’s going to let that slide.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">“…eh. He is old and tired. I think I’ll take my chances.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">…I like hearing them. I like feeling as if someone else is on my side.</p><p class="p1">…I Like having sides.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">Perhaps…. maybe…Sideways isn’t so bad after all.</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Litttttle bitty update. I'm 5 sessions (6 nowish?) into radiation treatment on my brain. It's not too terrible  (still waiting on superpowers, dammit!) but it can make my brain a little 'confused'. Some of my spelling, I've noted (and if you'll believe) has gotten slightly worse depending on when I'm writing and for how long. So if y'all would just let me know if it looks like I was typing half-drunk, I'd be grateful for the help. </p><p>I really did put a lot of effort into this one for one I never planned on publishing. So I hope y'all can enjoy getting a little dark with me. I promise some fun times mixed throughout. </p><p>Stick with it, and I'm sure we're gonna have a lot of fun. (And tears) </p><p>Anywho, thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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